


Strange Things Like Mercy

by bentsage



Series: Strange Things Like Mercy [1]
Category: Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - John Seed Needs Therapy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death Fix, Character Development, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, What-If, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bentsage/pseuds/bentsage
Summary: Nick's luck has never worked out the way he expects it to.  Instead of another family, a possible friend or even just a days-old campsite from some wanderer, Nick almost walks himself into an open bunker.  He catches himself at the edge of the hatch, staring down into the darkness at the bottom of the ladder.  It smells fucking terrible, like something up and shit itself to death down there, and now Nick is pretty sure he's going to find yet another goddamn corpse."Uh, hello?" Nick calls, unable to help himself.  "Anybody... down there?"There's no response.Nick looks around, but the overgrowth is too thick here for him to keep following the tracks.  Goddamn — falling to your death after surviving the nuclear holocaust?  What a way to go.--The year is 2026.  The Rye family has been living peacefully above ground post-apocalypse -- but that's bound to change when Nick discovers that John Seed might not have met the gruesome end he deserved.  After eight years of relearning a life without war, Nick is forced to choose between finishing what the Deputy started, or taking a more dangerous route -- one that requires forgiveness that he might not be ready to give.
Relationships: Kim Rye & John Seed, Kim Rye/Nick Rye, Nick Rye & John Seed
Series: Strange Things Like Mercy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786354
Comments: 121
Kudos: 135





	1. Are We out of the Woods Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> (this fic was finished a while ago but i'm here from (THE FUTURE) to tell you that i really loved writing this fic and that there is going to be more in the series! but i'll just rephrase what this note used to say:
> 
> HI! this fic is 100% self-indulgent trash and i love it. i started daydreaming about it almost as soon as new dawn came out, and spent a good deal of time writing this baby up. i felt that ubisoft didn't really give us a lot of connection to far cry 5, and also, let's be real guys: the heralds got done dirty. so, because i'm a huge simp for john seed, here we are: trying to repair the snapped wiring that is far cry 5's missed connections.
> 
> i mostly cut out the old notes, except when i had something relevant to say. the truth is though, i'm not really relevant to this story. sooo, let's just get on with it.
> 
> if you see any errors in formatting (or glaring grammatical/spelling errors that i've missed), feel free to let me know. i'm already aware that the italics formatting has left double spaces! i'm gonna work on that next, but honestly i don't wanna accidentally mess up the formatting. ANYWAY, my tumblr is [foxtophat](https://foxtophat.tumblr.com/) if you want to hit me up, otherwise, please enjoy my humble fic!)

**2026**

Nick isn't sure what to expect as he picks the trail out of the brush. That's sort of been the big theme of the apocalypse as he knows it. Between the super-bloom, the funky looking deer and the total decimation of everything he's ever known, Nick has been operating pretty exclusively on the fly. After eight years of monotony underground, the adventure is almost worth it, although he could do with some basic infrastructure like, you know, roads, gas, electricity, maybe a school so he and Kim don't have to be the ones to teach Carmina math and critical thinking and shit.

Either way, finding strange footprints in the woods is a pretty standard mystery, and Nick doesn't see why he  _ shouldn't _ follow them. He doesn't even think to leave it alone — how could he? If there's somebody roughing it this close to home, Nick figures he might as well extend a friendly hand. Or at least make sure a crazy murder-hobo hasn't started lurking around the woods his daughter plays in. That's  _ pretty unlikely _ , given the state of things, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

From all the games and movies Nick had digested growing up, he'd always figured that the nuclear wasteland would be either entirely uninhabited or infested with a population of power-hungry raiders looking to destroy everything in their wake. So far, though, most of the people he's come across have been pretty friendly. Wary as fuck, not really willing to share and definitely not interested in sticking around for long, but nobody's pulled a gun on the Ryes and their hospitality. As bad as Nick had thought living in the bunker had been, it's clear that surviving above ground had been much, much worse, and those who made it this far aren't in the habit of shooting generosity outright.

That's mostly what he's expecting as he follows the bootprints dug into the dirt. Strangers trying to get by in the lushness of Hope County, maybe people whose names he knows. Maybe even old friends who haven't reappeared yet. He expects a small camp, expects maybe he's going to have to negotiate with some new neighbors to keep the peace. There's plenty of land here for everyone, after all, and Nick isn't opposed to some friendly faces to rely on in hard times.

But Nick's luck has never worked out the way he expects it to. Instead of another family, a possible friend or even just a days-old campsite from some wanderer, Nick almost walks himself into an open bunker. He catches himself at the edge of the hatch, staring down into the darkness at the bottom of the ladder. It smells fucking terrible, like something up and shit itself to death down there, and now Nick is pretty sure he's going to find yet another goddamn corpse.

"Uh, hello?" Nick calls, unable to help himself. "Anybody... down there?"

There's no response.

Nick looks around, but the overgrowth is too thick here for him to keep following the tracks. Goddamn — falling to your death after surviving the nuclear holocaust? What a way to go.

It's only on his second look around that Nick catches sight of a scrap of yellow between the trees further ahead. It looks like fabric that's been stretched out over a branch, and as Nick approaches he starts to recognize it as nylon. Like a parachute, maybe? Shit, even if nobody's here, they could use that kind of sturdy fabric.

The parachute's in tatters, dragged through sharp tree-branches and the apocalypse alike. It's sort of like a... lean-to, maybe? Nick's not sure; whoever threw together this campsite was relying on instinct to build a decent shelter, not skill. There's a fire-pit in front of him that looks like it hasn't been burning for days now, and a crate of miscellaneous components, likely scavenged from wherever this parachute came from.

Nick goes to take the fabric down — one man's trash, right? — but he finds himself stopping cold as he catches sight of a corpse huddled under the lean-to. Jesus  _ Christ _ , and here he was about to scrap the whole place! Talk about disrespectful! From the look of it, the guy who had camped out here must've starved to death — curled nearly fetal, visibly malnourished even fully clothed. Between the thick beard and the wild mane of brown hair, Nick can't see the body's face; all he can make out is a heavily scarred mess near where the guy's ear should be. It looks like it got melted off. Or maybe blasted off.

The body  _ moves _ . The noise that accompanies it is something like a hiss, air wheezing sharply through tightly clenched teeth.

"Holy  _ shit _ ," Nick gasps, dancing backwards in momentary terror before getting a fucking grip on himself. "Holy shit, buddy, you're  _ alive _ ?"

In response, the corpse shudders like it's trying to rise, managing to twist enough in its spot that Nick can now make out a face to go with the rest of the body. There's something strikingly familiar about the bloodshot, glassy blue eyes, the thick beard, the tangled mass of brown hair...

The arm that had been hidden under the body has the sleeve rolled up to the elbow, and Nick can clearly make out ritualistic scars cross-hatched over tattoos that have faded after so long without any touch-ups. Nick stares uncomprehendingly at the damage, unable to think of a single person capable of so much torturous work. The hand curled in the dirt underneath has shiny scars over one of the knuckles, but Nick still recognizes the word  _ EDEN _ even missing most of the  _ N _ .

Nick's whole body jolts with a white-hot rush of terror. " _ Jesus, Christ! _ " he shouts, jerking away as if expecting a real bomb to drop on him.

It's John goddamn fucking  _ Seed _ !

Nick raises his rifle before he's processed the situation, finger on the trigger and barrel pointed down at the body slumped in front of him. He almost pulls the trigger, too,  _ wants to _ pull the trigger, but John is just  _ lying there. _ He isn't moving, he's barely breathing, and Nick... he can't do it. God, he knows he should — but it's been eight years since he's had to shoot another human being. He doesn't want to break that streak, not even if John barely counts as human.

John smells like shit and looks like a goddamn murder-hobo. Coming close again, Nick can hear his breath rattling in his lungs. It isn't until Nick has the barrel of his rifle almost touching John's chest that the man's eyes drift towards the gun; even then, it doesn't look like he recognizes the danger he's in.

"Holy goddamn," Nick says, unable to help himself, "You look like  _ shit _ ."

The noise John makes in return could be called a laugh, if Nick were feeling particularly charitable, but it's closer to a tired hiss. It flips his stomach, instincts deeper than reason keeping him glued to the spot while he slowly lowers his gun.

Shit.  _ Shit! _ He would be doing the world a favor, eradicating this goddamn beast. This is the fucking monster who'd terrorized his family, tried to force him from his home,  _ tortured _ him — he still carries the dark, thick band of a scar from where John  _ literally fucking flayed  _ him! This county spent years being subtly and then overtly terrorized by this shit and his family, and a quick execution is more than he deserves!

John is barely more than a corpse as it is. He was never meant to make it this long, and his survival is a testament to how little God cares about this miserable planet. Nick would be doing everyone a favor.

Nick listens to him wheeze, something rattling deep in his chest, and finds himself lowering the barrel, finger reluctantly pulling away from the trigger.

He calls himself all sorts of names as he moves into the shelter. Mostly, "Fuckin' idiot, goddamn fool," which doesn't stop him from acting like one at all but at least it makes him feel better.

John doesn't react as Nick crouches beside him; the most he does is close his eyes and try not to throw up as Nick struggles to prop him up. He struggles to swallow, gulping thickly against his dry throat. Nick pulls his canteen off of his belt and pushes it into John's shaking hands, but it's only when he helps bring it to his mouth that John actually drinks any water. He clutches at the metal and drinks desperately, greedily, and it makes Nick so fucking angry to see his relief that he rips the canteen away before John can get his fill. The guilt he feels immediately after is worse than the anger by leagues, but he's got no way to process that shit right now, so he'll stick with the more understandable outrage.

"I've got every right to leave you for the fuckin' wolves," he grunts, shoving the canteen back into John's hands. "I'd be doing the world a favor if I shot you right here myself."

Nick doesn't expect John's delirious nod in response. He doesn't know what to do with it. John Seed has too much goddamn pride to accept a miserable end like this. He's a self-centered narcissist who probably expected the whole cult thing to blow over in court — how can he lie here like a skeleton and let Nick talk about putting him down like a dog?

"Every  _ fucking _ right," Nick repeats helplessly as the choice vanishes in front of him. John gasps as he pulls away from the canteen, swallowing thickly several times. He looks like he wants to speak, but he can't find the words. Well,  _ good _ . At least something's going right in this post-apocalyptic nightmare.

Nick can't leave him here to die. He wants to, but the idea makes him sick to his stomach. The only person he can think of that might be able to stand dealing with this better than him is Kim, but... God, what's she gonna do to him if he shows up dragging this sack of shit with him? He's pretty sure divorce in the wasteland involves buckshot and an unmarked grave.

"Okay," Nick sighs at last, "On your feet."

Ordering him doesn't do much, considering John doesn't seem fully aware of his surroundings, but it makes Nick feel better that he tried before resorting to helping him.

John can barely hold himself up. He keeps his legs under him, but even while he's leaning heavily on Nick, his gait is toddler-wobbly and his knees keep buckling. He breathes hard through his nose and gets pretty green around the gills as they march on, but he doesn't complain. Honestly, the most unnerving thing about the situation is how John says  _ nothing _ . Nick remembers listening to the guy ramble for  _ hours _ over the deputy's radio, just wishing he would shut up. Now, Nick finds himself trying to fill that same silence while wishing John would just  _ contribute _ to the conversation.

"This - none of this means I'm  _ helping you _ ," Nick explains to the silence in frustration. "I just - don't think you're worth wasting bullets over. That's all." It's definitely not a good explanation, but John probably isn't coherent enough to notice. Thankfully, that means he won't notice as Nick works out the problem aloud. Nick's always preferred talking his thoughts out - it's easier than trying to listen to them being just  _ thought _ . "And anyway... I can't risk you gettin' better out there by yourself and... running around, meeting back up with your whackjob followers, any of that! So I couldn't leave you there, either. Can't have... fuckin' cult shit in the apocalypse... Not gonna happen, not on my watch."

John grunts, but Nick isn't sure if it's in response or just because he tripped over a rock.

"So... Yeah, sure, I'm takin' you home, but it's only because somebody needed to keep an eye on you," Nick finishes. The excuse does... well, it doesn't do  _ much _ to paper over the guilty empathy Nick had felt finding John in such a way, but it'll at least get Kim off his back for a couple of minutes until he can come up with something more convincing.

"Damn it, Kim is gonna murder me," Nick realizes aloud as he finally catches sight of the house through the trees. John grunts again, this time definitely in response, and Nick imagines a normal, healthy John Seed would be throwing a sarcastic quip in his face. Probably something kind of lewd and predatory about the state of their marriage. The image manages to make John's silence more palatable, anyway.

Father of the year that he is, Nick only pauses to consider Carmina when he's nearly at the door. She's only eight years old, and she doesn't know anything about the cult. If he isn't careful, this whole thing could blow up in his face. He could wind up getting his own daughter indoctrinated in an old-timey psycho cult! All because he couldn't stomach killing this jackass? Is that  _ really _ what he wants?

Well, he has some time before Grace comes back with her — hopefully Kim will have shot John before then. ...Shit, hopefully she shoots John, and not him,  _ too _ .

He's gotta bite the bullet one way or another, and so he drags John in through the front door. It's like a bandaid; you just gotta rip it off and deal with the consequences.

"Oh my God," Kim says as he stops by the door, eager to not be touching John any longer than necessary. "What happened?" Nick turns to prop John up against the doorframe, reluctant to meet Kim's face. She must see something that gives John away — maybe his tattoos, or his eyes — because she stops halfway across the dirt-encrusted floorboards and sucks in a horrified breath. "Is that  _ John Seed _ ?" Kim shouts, "Nick, what are you  _ doing _ ?!"

Panic flashes across John's face as he half-slips out of Nick's grasp, but he's got the wall right behind him. "Easy," Nick mutters, bracing John's shoulder until he recognizes the support at his back. The relief on his face is hard to look at, but Nick's not sure Kim is gonna be much better.

" _ No _ ," Kim shouts. "Nick, are you  _ crazy _ ?!"

"Kim, c'mon," Nick replies, turning at last, "Hear me out."

"I'm not  _ hearing you out _ ," Kim hisses. "The fact that you brought him here instead of  _ putting a bullet-! _ "

She cuts herself off, stalking back into the kitchen. Now Nick is desperate to watch her face, but of course she keeps her back turned to him, even as he chases after her. He gets close enough to rest his hands on her hips, which he does almost out of instinct — she tenses, but at least she lets him  _ keep _ his hands.

He opens his mouth to repeat all the excuses he'd come up with, about not wanting to waste bullets and not wanting to risk another cult uprising, but to his horror, the only thing that comes out of him is the simple, guilty truth. "I couldn't do it," he whispers miserably. "I couldn't - Kim, I fuckin' hate the guy. If he could hold a gun, if he weren't - he wouldn't be here. I would have shot him dead. No regrets."

"That's what he deserves," Kim mutters. She drops one hand from the counter, resting it on top of Nick's, fingers wrapping around his palm.

"It is," Nick agrees, and he means it with all his heart. It's just... his heart is kind of soft, and it's put him in a sticky situation here. He admits with a tight, rasping voice, "I just couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. And I couldn't leave him there. I mean... what if the cult found him?"

Kim sees through the excuse immediately, turning in his arms to stare him down with that skeptical squint of hers. At last, though, she sighs, taking both of his hands up in her own. "You're too soft," she tells him fondly. She's right, though. One of these days, his tenderhearted mercies are going to get them in a whole load of trouble. With John Seed slumped in his doorway, that trouble might have already come.

"I don't know what to do," Nick tells her, knowing he can rely on her to help him find direction again.

Focusing her attention on the figure slumped in the doorway, Kim eventually shakes her head. "It might be what he deserves, but  _ we _ don't deserve it," she says at last. Nick can't help but feel relieved, even if it's a guilty kind of relief. "We'll have to find somewhere to put him. Somewhere Carmina can't find, or won't go."

There aren't a lot of places around the homestead that fit that description, but Nick agrees that keeping Carmina away is key. "I dunno, we could... put him in the bunker, maybe? Carmina hates it down there. She'd never bother looking..."

Behind him, John's breath hitches, and at last he finds his voice. "No," he rasps with a shredded voice, "Not that."

"You're not in a position to argue," Nick snaps over his shoulder.

Kim fixes her eyes on John, but Nick can't tell what she's thinking. He expects her to tell John to get fucked, even half-expects her to throw him in the hole herself. It's the least John deserves. But her stony frown cracks just a little, and Nick recognizes the same pity that started this whole mess.

"The..." She clears her throat and begins again, "The spare room has a lock on the door. It'll do for now."

Nick nods. "Okay," he says. "I'll... I'll dump him up there, and then..."

"And then we'll talk about how we're going to deal with him," she says.

It's going to be one hell of a conversation, but Nick is willing to lie in the bed he's made. He gives her hands a gentle squeeze before he pulls away, turning to regard John's collapsed form in the doorway.

"Okay, asshole," he grunts, although it doesn't seem like John catches the insult. When Nick picks him back up, he settles even more heavily on Nick's shoulders. Nick barely manages to make it up the stairs without dropping the dead weight hanging on to him.

There's not much in the spare room, aside from some boxes of sentimental trash and a rat-nest pile of potentially useful garbage. The room itself was going to be Carmina's nursery — it's pale yellow and blue colors have faded and cracked, and of course Carmina doesn't like any of it, anyway. She's more interested in learning how to shoot and sharing a room with her parents in case a pack of wild dogs comes through the area.

Nick puts John down on a folded tarp he's been meaning to use to rain-proof the roof. He looks just as corpse-like lying here as he did in the woods, but at least now Nick can pretend like he has control of the situation. He's gonna have to burn the clothes John's wearing, and probably give him a bucket to clean himself up with... Ugh. The logistics of keeping John hostage in the room don't make too much sense. It would be smarter to throw him in the bunker, where he would at least have his own bathroom. It would be even smarter to put him back in the woods where he found him.

"It'd be better for me if you croaked while I'm gone," Nick tells John. Still, he leaves his canteen with him before he goes; he's pretty sure he knows where the key is for the lock, but for now it's safe to say John isn't going to be staging a breakout any time soon.


	2. Conversations, I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kim discuss the choices available to them with a sick and mangy Seed kicking it in their spare bedroom.

Nick dreads every step he takes back down to the kitchen, but they only have a little while before Grace brings Carmina back. They need to make a plan before then — even if they're not going to kill John Seed, they're going to have to do  _ something _ with him.

Kim is in the kitchen, taking her anger out on the vegetables she's picked. Nick can imagine his neck snapping as easily as the wimpy little carrots do, swallowing as he steels himself for the hard choices about to come. He'd sworn up and down that he was going to live a simple life from here on out, and yet here he is, bringing trouble in with him like a stray goddamn cat. Not even considering the safety of his family, or the feelings of his wife — or his  _ friends _ , because what is Grace gonna say about all this? They have to tell her, right? And what about Jerome? Not to mention the other survivors. God — the list of people he's betraying grows by the second!

"Carmina will be back soon," Kim says, breaking another carrot into quarters. "We need to deal with John before then."

Despite her hostile tone, Nick doesn't think she means  _ kill _ the guy. He hopes she doesn't. Nick will  _ do it _ , of course — he can't expect Kim to clean up his mess — but he can barely stomach the guilt thinking about it. God, what if she tells him to do it? The man wouldn't even be able to fight back. Nick's never had to kill someone who couldn't fight  _ back _ .

"Hey," Kim calls out, soft but firm enough to shake him out of his thoughts. "It's going to be okay."

"Yeah, I know," Nick replies, the words spilling out. "Just — I really messed up, Kim, what the hell was I thinking? I saw him lying there, I had my gun in his face and I decided to put us all in danger, because  _ why _ ? Because I felt  _ sorry _ for him? I should've done something differently. I should've..."

Kim has this way of smiling that never fails to pull Nick out of even the worst thought spiral. She uses it on him now, tiny crows-feet crinkling beside her eyes as she comes around from the kitchen. "There are a lot of things we could have done differently," she says gently. "We spent six years in a bunker learning that lesson. Six years  _ un _ learning all of the bullshit the cult forced on us." She reaches him, taking one of his hands up in both of hers. If there's an easy solution she can see that Nick can't, she doesn't tell him; she only sighs and admits, "I don't blame you. I don't know if I could have done it, either."

"Well, at least I know I'm not the only one who's gone soft." Nick looks back towards the stairs, as if John might somehow crawl out of the spare room and demand they hand over the house. "The question is, what do we do now that we got him here?"

"Well..." Kim's shoulders slump with a resigned sigh, as she also turns to look up the stairs. "I mean, there aren't a lot of options that don't end with us shooting him. It's not like there's a court to try him in, or anyone left to hold him accountable."

Nick shrugs. "Maybe that was the plan? Maybe he thought he could outlive the consequences of his bullshit."

"I'm definitely in favor of shooting him if that's the case. I'm surprised he outfoxed the deputy, much less that he survived for this long."

"I don't think I'd call whatever he's been doing  _ surviving _ ." Nick gestures up the stairs. "You saw the guy. All I know is that I found him next to an open bunker that smelled like a mass grave. I mean, Dep... Dep said they put him down. They wouldn't have left him  _ alive _ somewhere. Right?"

"They never were big on murder," Kim points out. "Or revenge."

"God, if they fuckin' stashed him away after everything he did..." Nick exhales heavily; he's getting too worked up about a hypothetical situation. "I guess it doesn't matter. They couldn't've known what was gonna happen." No matter how often Joseph or his fucked up family would tell them otherwise, the Deputy had never been big on religious zealotry, and the concept of the end of the world had seemed impossible to them at the time. They hadn't been a fan of killing the Seeds outright, not if they could be brought to justice, but they had never been given the chance. Well, that's what Nick thought, anyway. Now, he's not so sure that Rook didn't play some key decisions too close to their chest.

"Okay, okay," Kim cuts through his thoughts, "Let's just focus on the information we have for now."

"Easy for you to say," he sighs. But, she's right, of course she is, so Nick sighs again and shakes his head to clear away the random what-ifs he's been conjuring up. "Okay, so — the facts. Right."

"You said you found him in a bunker?" Kim prompts.

"Near a bunker. He'd made a... I mean, it wasn't a  _ camp _ . But he was living topside for at least a couple days. My bet is he crawled in there after the plane went down."

"He must have run out of food at some point and had to come up," Kim suggests.

"Yeah, for all the good that did him. Though I guess it might be better starving to death topside instead of pre-buried."

"Maybe if we're lucky, he'll starve before we get around to feeding him," Kim sighs, although she sounds too resigned to be hopeful of an easy outcome. "Although it'd be hard to explain to Carmina and Grace why we're burning a corpse..."

"Oh, man," Nick groans. "What do we tell Grace? And what are we gonna do about Carmina? She can't go anywhere  _ near _ that psychopath. Even if he's too weak to hurt her, I don't want him giving her...  _ weird ideas _ or something."

Kim hesitates. "Grace won't be forgiving. If we tell her, she won't consider another option."

Nick hates the idea, but not enough to keep from considering it. Grace wouldn't hesitate; she would do what needs doing and she would only wonder why it took her coming along for it to happen. And if they don't tell her, they won't just be keeping John a prisoner — they'll be harboring him from the justice he deserves. They'll have to keep him hidden from everybody, even strangers. The alternative would be to put the burden on somebody who doesn't deserve it.

"I don't think I've got the guts," Nick admits shamefully. "I feel sick just thinking about it."

He hopes that Kim has a stronger stomach than him, but she only sighs and nods. "I'm not sure it's the right choice. I'm not even sure there  _ is _ a right choice. But — for the sake of fairness, he should at least be able to defend himself."

"We've gone soft," Nick chuckles. "Back in the day, we'd have busted his teeth in just for surviving."

Kim gives him this look, like maybe she's always seen him as soft, but he doesn't mind it coming from her. "So," she asks, "What do we do with him once he's well enough to be a problem?"

"Hopefully, he does something to inspire some righteous, old-world justice before then."

"Considering his track record, I won't rule that out. But... Ugh. I don't even want to say it." Kim rubs her face with both hands, pacing in a small circle. "Eight years is a long time to plan in. He could have any number of... of plots, or hidden caches, who knows what? If we don't kill him, there's a real chance that he might use our kindness against us." Kim's frown is heavy enough to pull her whole face into it as she turns back to Nick. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"We'll keep him in the nursery. He'll be under lock and key, 24-7, until we can figure out what his deal is. If he turns out to be plotting some kind of second cult uprising or, I dunno... resurrecting Joseph from the grave, we'll put him out of  _ everyone's _ misery. Which, let's face it, is the most likely outcome."

"And if he doesn't? How long can we keep him prisoner up there? I mean, Nick... our food supply isn't exactly stable, and he's another mouth to feed on wimpy carrots and mushy turnips. Summer's almost over, and last winter was hard enough without four of us."

Nick chews his lip. Looks back towards the stairs, wondering whether John can hear what they're saying, if he's cognizant enough to understand the position they're putting themselves in on his dumb behalf. "And then there's all the stuff we gotta get done before then," he sighs, thinking of the myriad chores and home improvement projects he's put off in order to focus on basic survival. "Hell, I don't know, Kim. Maybe we can put him to work when he's able to stand upright. Give him all the jobs Carmina's too young to do yet."

"We  _ do _ need somebody to dig this house out of the dirt," Kim suggests. She's mostly joking, even though it's extremely true — they haven't had time, energy or interest enough to do more than a cursory sweep to clear the stairs. "And you've been talking about fixing up the hangar again..."

"All manual labor that I can oversee with a rifle," Nick says. "John owes us — seems only right that we take what we need."

"Assuming he'll cooperate."

"He's not going to have much of a choice."

Kim frowns. "If he doesn't, are you sure you can handle  _ making _ him?"

Nick should probably be offended, but she's right to ask. Truthfully, Nick's not sure he can be intimidating enough to sway John into listening to him. The guy is a fucking maniac, after all — other than pain and revenge, there's not much that gets him up and moving. Nick doesn't have an ace up his sleeve that can outdo the Cult. That doesn't mean he's not gonna try — it just means he's going to have to try harder than John deserves.

"I'm gonna have to be. Look, after Carmina gets back, I'll take up some food and see if he's willing to talk. We'll just... go from there."

"You've always been good at improvising," Kim hums. She's got a smile on her face that Nick's never seen before, something sad lingering in her eyes as she gives him a curious look over. "I love you, you know," she tells him, as if she hasn't said it a dozen times this week alone.

"I love you too," he replies. "And I'm sorry I brought this on us. I'll make it right."

" _ He'll _ make it right," Kim says. "Or we'll shoot him."

Nick laughs. "Yeah, or we'll shoot him," he repeats, pulling Kim in for a long, tight hug. Nick's not sure if it's old age or being a father that's softened him so much, but he's sure it hasn't softened him enough to keep him from doing whatever might need to be done. All he can do is hope that John won't put that to the test.


	3. Conversations, II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gives being a prison guard a try, while John acts like he hasn't talked to anybody in almost eight years. What's up with that?

John is, unfortunately, still alive when Nick goes to check on him. He even seems to be aware of his surroundings, unsurprised when Nick opens the door and downright  _ guarded _ as Nick approaches him with a plate of vegetables and some smoked venison. The role reversal doesn't sit right at all with Nick, but at least he knows he's in control of the situation for now. Give the bastard a couple of nights of good rest and John will no doubt attempt to get back on top, but tonight he's too sick to do anything but cringe away as Nick unceremoniously drops into a crouch and drops the plate in his general direction.

Tense, with his fingers twisting in the blanket below him, John rasps, "What's this?"

Nick frowns. "Food," he snaps, trying not to let his own rudeness bother him. He doesn't have to feel guilty being short with John — it's fucking  _ John _ . Nick should be mad at himself for not being  _ more _ of a dick! Being in a position that would earn a normal person sympathy doesn't mean  _ squat  _ when the guy is a murdering, violent psychopath wearing the thin veneer of a human being! He doesn't deserve  _ anything _ Nick gives him, besides a swift and merciless kick to the temple.

Nick exhales heavily and reluctantly adds, "You look like you need it."

It's only once Nick rises to his feet again that John reaches for the plate, dragging it into his lap and proving Nick right as he quickly begins to inhale his food. It's alarming to watch John cramming jerky and vegetables into his mouth hand-over-fist, and despite himself he warns, "Slow down, you're gonna choke."

John stops eating like a switch has been flipped, dropping his hands to the plate as though he's been physically restrained. He doesn't say anything, just twists his fingers against the rim and stares at Nick's boots.

Okay.

This, uh. This is weird.

Nick feels his unease chewing at his nerves. "Well?" he snaps, trying to bluster his way through it.

"Well,  _ what _ ?" John asks in return. There's an edge of annoyance in his voice, an old-world relic of John's normally nasty attitude, but it's not enough to reassure Nick.

"You  _ know _ what. You're supposed to be  _ dead _ . Rook put you down almost a decade ago, and I dunno if you noticed, but there's been a  _ nuclear apocalypse _ since then. There's no way I'm putting you in your grave before you tell me how you got this far in the first place."

It's a lie, but the important part is that Nick sounds tough when he says it.

John clenches his jaw in response and finally meets Nick's glare with his own steely gaze. "They shot me," he says, his ragged voice still managing to scrape together enough attitude to sound vaguely condescending. He touches his gut, fingers prodding gently. "Then, the deputy left me for dead. I assume they returned to your welcoming arms."

Ugh, it is so fucking weird to hear John's passive-aggressive bullshit. Eight years apparently wasn't enough time for him to get over his nasty infatuation, if he's  _ still _ bitter about Rook picking the Ryes over his own family.

"All of us were happy you were gone," Nick says, unwilling to indulge in John's creepy pity-lust for the deputy. "So, what then? How did you find that bunker? How'd you even know it was  _ there _ ?"

John picks up a piece of jerky, bending it between his thumb and index finger. "It was my backup plan."

"What, in case the Cult backfired on you?" Nick scoffs loudly as John silently pops the piece of meat into his mouth. "I bet your brother would be real pleased to know you tried to weasel your way out of his prophecy."

John chews and swallows. "I doubt Joseph survived the Deputy at close range. I doubt I'll survive the second round myself. Where... is the Deputy, anyway? Shouldn't they be here casting down judgment, too?"

Nick sets his jaw. "I don't know," he says, folding his arms over his chest. "Nobody knows. They went to confront Joseph, but with all the Bliss in the air... I don't know. We lost track of them in the chaos. If they've had access to a radio, they haven't used it to contact anyone."

If John has any insight into what might've happened, he doesn't share it. He picks at a few pieces of carrot but it seems like he's lost his appetite again. "I see," he says, too pensively for someone who seems half out of their gourd.

"So, you survived being shot down, crawled into a hole with a gut full of buckshot, survived  _ that _ , and then... what?"

"You saw what," John sighs. He looks tired — all this talking must be wearing him out. It's hard to believe John Seed is too weak to hold a conversation, considering how hard it used to be to get him to shut the fuck up. Nick tries not to spend too much time thinking about it.

"You want me to believe that you spent eight years just  _ sitting there _ ?" Nick asks. The disbelief in his voice doesn't come  _ close _ to the incredulity he's feeling. There's no way that John spent the last eight years in a quiet limbo. Hell, Nick's bunker life wouldn't make for riveting television or anything, but he still did more than  _ exist _ . Even if he was on his own, John had to have some kind of — of  _ backup _ backup plan, a plot to manipulate the nuclear apocalypse in his favor,  _ something _ . Right?

"What do you want me to say? The bunker was  _ lacking _ in entertainment. I was trapped alone, miles away from the Project, with nowhere near enough supplies. I was certain I would die before the first year was over, and from then on I assumed every day would somehow become my last. My being here is as much a surprise to you as it is to me."

He glances up, watching Nick's reaction with a wariness Nick isn't comfortable with. It's too much like a wounded dog, and John  _ has _ to be playing some kind of angle to be using it.

"I had a radio, but no microphone," he says. "All I could do was listen."

Nick remembers what the radio channels were like for the first couple of months after the bombs dropped. Everyone going through every step of the grieving process over the world they'd known, screaming, begging, arguing, crying all the time. Lots of repentant Peggy idiots cursing Eden's Gate, even more innocent people sending out their last painful goodbyes. Kim would talk to them, sometimes, but for a while, it was safer to just leave the damned thing off.

"Eventually, the radio died," John mutters. "I thought it would be... better, somehow, being isolated. After all, that's how Joseph spoke to God, and I had a lot of questions that He might have answered."

"The last thing we need is  _ another _ hallucinating prophet," Nick warns. He hopes John tries to sell him on some new-wave Josephism, though — he'd love to shoot the guy on principle and be done with everything. Boy, would that take a load of ethical weight off his back!

John's lips tighten wryly. "Apparently I don't possess the same qualities that made Joseph such an inviting disciple," he says. "I was alone. For... seven years, eight months, three days. Give or take."

"You keep a calendar down there?" Nick snaps, as if he and Kim hadn't quickly sorted time out themselves.

"I did," John replies, somewhat smugly. "Long enough to know when I ran out of supplies, at least. After that, it wasn't long before I had to leave the bunker. I couldn't... I couldn't take it anymore."

Nick waits for John to continue, but he doesn't. There must be more to it than that, Nick's sure of it, but John doesn't seem capable of handling the conversation.

John drops his line of sight to the pistol holstered at Nick's hip. He seems to be waiting for something.

"What happens now?" he asks, once whatever he's waiting for fails to happen. No doubt he expects Nick to brandish the gun in his face, to intimidate him or threaten him or... whatever. Shoot him, probably, because not even John Seed would be stupid enough to give himself clemency for all his crimes.

"Now?" Nick repeats. "Well, I guess that depends on you." He crouches down once more, sure that he's well out of John's grasp as he does so. He wants John to look him in the eye. "See, it's been a while, but I still  _ really _ fuckin' hate you. After everything you've done, to me, my family, my  _ home _ ... Honestly, I should've probably put you down the moment I recognized you."

John meets Nick's hard glare with the resolve of a condemned man. "Why didn't you?" he asks.

"Because I haven't had to kill anybody in nearly a decade, and y'know, I'd like to keep that streak." Nick jabs a finger at John, inwardly pleased when he recoils to avoid contact. " _ You're _ the one who came to Hope County looking for a fight. So I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet."

Nick figures he sounds pretty intimidating, but John doesn't seem moved by the indirect threat. Of course he isn't. The guy built half a religious movement out of his sadomasochism — he's not going to feel threatened by Nick, not even if he were holding a pair of pliers to his teeth. He doesn't even give Nick the satisfaction of asking what he means — he only stares and waits for Nick to hand down his sentence.

"First, we gotta see if you're gonna make it through the night," Nick says, gesturing towards the abandoned plate. "After that, I'm gonna put you to work. Kim and I, we got a list of things we need to get done. It's back-breaking manual labor, and  _ you're _ gonna be the one whose back breaks." Nick rises to his feet, trying to seem tough when in reality, his knees are starting to ache, and he can't afford to throw one out over a show of force. "You do what you're told with no back-talking, and I guess we'll find a way to keep you fed."

"And if I don't?"

"I don't think you're in any position to refuse, jackass. Nobody else is going to think twice about shooting you around here. The cult, your followers, family, they're all dead and gone. Anyone left who knows your face is gonna want to smash it to bits, and they aren't going to be inclined to be as generous as Kim and I are being. So it's either this, or I throw you back in that bunker where you belong."

For a moment, Nick thinks that John might try to turn him down anyway. He hopes he does — it'd be nice to get to punch the guy without feeling guilty for hitting a seriously ill man. But John's pale face belies how desperate he is to avoid that bunker of his, and eventually he gives in with a slow, resigned nod.

"You're right," John replies, voice hoarse from exhaustion. "Joseph — the Project — it's all gone. And I..."

John trails off with a heavy, resigned sigh. He looks up at Nick through a thick clump of long, tangled hair that's fallen over his face. "I'm at your mercy," he finally says, dropping Nick's gaze immediately after as though he doesn't expect much mercy at all.

"What, that's it?" Nick asks, honestly fucking confounded at the lack of backtalk. He'd made a good argument, sure, but — what? "No arguing? No negotiating, no defending the cult? No trying to deflect blame?"

"What good would it do?" John replies. Despite everything, he manages to scrape together enough attitude to look unimpressed by Nick's entire deal. It's the first time since realizing John was alive that Nick feels a twinge of that old-fashioned irritation that used to make shooting John seem so appealing. "I have nothing. You've won, Nick. I hope you've been enjoying the prize."

"I ought to punch you," Nick snaps. "Lucky for you, I'd feel bad for giving you a beat-down in your sorry state." He nudges the plate with his boot, sliding it closer to John. "I'll be back with some water so you can clean yourself up. You stink enough to put me off my own dinner. Anything else, well..."

He gestures to the ratty, mildewy pile of junk that they've been collecting in the room, as if any of it could be useful. Broken picture frames, mouse-torn bedding, broken down cardboard boxes and more all piled innocently away in what was going to be Carmina's room. Looking at it fills Nick with a sense of profound sadness that he shoves right back down where it belongs.

"You can figure something out," he tells John, who doesn't seem capable of making another dig at Nick's new position as prison guard. Unwilling to be moved by John's labored breathing as he simply nods in return, Nick quickly about-faces, storming from the room with just enough anger to hide the retreat for what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, just wanted to give a quick shout out and say THANK YOU so much for all of your comments, kudos, reblogs and likes!!! i appreciate every single one of them and enjoy sucking the serotonin out of them like an authorial butterfly with a really sick proboscis.


	4. Unpaid Manual Labor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kim and Carmina go hunting, leaving Nick in charge of cleaning up the house. What better time to test the fragile surrender of John Seed and put him to work?

Well, John doesn't die. Despite that being the only good thing the man could possibly do, he manages to hang on through the first night, looking better before the week is out. It's a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Nick no longer feels like he's serving a skeleton its last meal; on the other, it means that John is more than likely here to stay. Every time Nick goes to give him food, he finds the room just a little bit more lived in, the tarp turning into a makeshift bed as John struggles to settle in. Just yesterday, Nick had noticed a short series of tally lines scratched in the wall, marking each day of his sentence as though he were confined to solitary.

Nick should probably be happy with how smoothly things are going. He should probably be glad that John is keeping quiet and politely recuperating without so much as a snide remark. It's what he wanted, after all — for John to wave a white flag and agree to an unconditional surrender. And yet Nick can't help but feel short-changed, as if John owes him at least one opportunity to punch him in the face for being an asshole. It used to be something Nick dreamed about doing; he'd fantasized about beating him to a bloody pulp even as John had ripped his skin from his chest. Now, he's not willing to deal with the guilt that would undoubtedly follow.

Nick wishes he could go back to his "fight everyone" thirties. Being a mature adult sucks.

It's bright and early one morning when Nick decides it's past time to do something about the ceiling, which is warped and sagging beneath the nursery. Nick suspects it's a cracked joist, but considering his lack of carpentry skills, he doubts he can do anything to repair it. Right now, all he can do is try to support the weight of the second floor with something other than a wish and a prayer. Thankfully, he saved some of the posts when he dismantled the back porch — now if only Kim weren't going to be busy all day with Carmina, they could actually get some work done.

Except, maybe not!

John has been looking a lot better these past two days, since all he's been doing is resting and regaining his strength. Nick's heard him rummaging around at night, and he's been making himself something of a nest out of the crap left with him. Nick's even heard him talking, although it's anyone's guess who he thinks is listening. Considering how quiet and withdrawn he is when Nick brings him his meals, he doesn't seem interested in what real people have to say.

Honestly, if Nick hadn't been an integral part of John's survival for the past week, he'd think the whole thing was some kind of ploy. Nick's not sure what John would be planning with this act for sympathy, but he isn't going to make the same mistake he did all those years ago and write him off as some rich, coked-out jackass with no thoughts to his name. He's not going to let John sit around and finalize whatever evil machinations he's got brewing in his mind. He's gonna work that sad-sack until the only thing John's thinking about is collapsing from exhaustion.

Nick doesn't reveal his plans until after breakfast. He doesn't want to ruin his favorite meal of the day, not when he can rest aimlessly beside his family around the table, eating ham and eggs while Kim brews coffee. It's the closest they'll ever get to the way life used to be, and Nick can pretend that everything is back to normal as long as he has a cup of coffee in hand. Hell, it's not like watching his eight-year-old daughter methodically clean the family rifle during breakfast is all that weird for Hope County, with or without the apocalypse.

It's probably a good thing that Carmina is distracted. If she realized today was the day John would be seeing sunlight, she'd refuse to go anywhere until her curiosity was satisfied. They've told her as little as they can get away with, given that they're keeping a man prisoner across the hall from them. Mostly that he's a very sick stranger who could make little girls very sick too. She'd bought it for the most part, but Nick's afraid that she won't be able to contain her curiosity for much longer.

"Think I'm gonna get some stuff done while you're gone," he tells Kim, glancing significantly towards the stairs while Carmina isn't looking. "We need to deal with the second floor sooner rather than later."

"Are you sure?" she asks, raising her eyebrows meaningfully back at him. "Is this something you can do on your own?"

"Better to not put it off anymore," Nick replies. "It'll be easier if I have the place to myself, anyway. Less, uh, confusion."

That said, he puts the chore off for almost half an hour after Kim and Carmina head out. He tries to prepare, but there's not much he can do to close off the exits, and it only takes a few minutes to drag all the necessary supplies into place. All he can do at this point is hope that John is only strong enough to help, and not strong enough to run at the first chance he gets. If he does that, Nick's going to have no choice but to shoot him.

Nick does his best to hide his nerves as he unlocks the door. It feels weird to knock so he doesn't, pushing the door open slowly enough for the hinges to creak. John should just be thankful Nick bothers to try giving him any sort of head's up.

John, ungrateful bastard that he is, sleeps through Nick's entrance. He's found the cheap wool guest blanket that Nick would never dream of actually  _ offering _ to guests, which seems fitting. His shirt is crumpled next to him, leaving Nick with the unfortunate view of his bare torso.

Nick's seen John shirtless a few times now, but that doesn't make it any easier to stomach. His skin is stretched over his jutting shoulder blades, clinging to every sharp, bony angle of his spine. Nick knows there's not much else for it to cling to - he's seen the way John's stomach sags, too much skin with not enough meat to hang on to. It's all been eaten away from months, maybe even  _ years _ , of malnutrition and inactivity. The only thing left of the man Nick remembers is a goddamn shadow. Looking down at John, Nick's left to wonder how he had survived at all.

Nick nudges John unkindly with his boot, ignoring the grunt of discomfort he gets in return. "Come on," he snaps, "It's morning. If the sun's up,  _ you're _ up — this isn't the goddamn Hope County Hilton."

John groans, biting his tongue against whatever snide comment might come to mind. That's too bad — Nick would love to start today off with an ethically-sourced beat-down.

Even though he wants to, Nick refuses to look away as John sits up, revealing all of his tattoos and scars. The tattoos are nothing new, and some of the scars look pre-Collapse old, but John obviously didn't let the bunker curb his self-mutilating tendencies. Some of the tattoos have been ritualistically carved out, leaving flat slabs of scar tissue behind. Others have been scratched out less completely, seemingly at random. The worst part is seeing the ten deep, half-moon gouges in his shoulders, leaving behind raw, fresh scars. Nick can only imagine what led to their creation, but he would really rather not.

"Put your shirt on and eat quick," Nick tells him, setting the plate near enough to John before retreating to wait by the door. The more space he has between them, the better. If John is going to pull something, Nick wants to have room to grab his gun, or at least to brace for a fight. And anyway, John still eats like a mongrel and it's uncomfortable to watch.

"Time to put me to work?" John asks skeptically as he drags his shirt over his torso.

"You bet," Nick replies. Should he be a cagey dick about it? Part of him thinks so, out of spite, but realistically he should temper John's expectations. Nick isn't going to be capable of putting John through the kind of torture he's probably expecting. So, he points out the dipping corner and says, "This whole floor is gonna give out if we don't do something about it. Well, I say  _ we _ , but I mean  _ you _ ."

John regards the spot with more skepticism. "That's it?"

"You haven't even seen how much of the house you're going to be digging out of the dirt," Nick points out. "Come on, hurry up already, I don't have all day."

——

Despite being sick as a dog, John's strength is still something to be reckoned with. Nick watches uneasily at first as John makes short work of clearing space for the beam to stand, heaving shovelfuls of dirt out the open window without regard to his wasted muscles. If John decides to come at him with that shovel, it's going to be Nick's reflexes that save him, not his brute strength. Nick's reflexes aren't exactly the best these days, so Nick hopes it doesn't come to that.

It doesn't seem like John is interested in fighting, though. Nick sets him to work with the shovel and he takes it up without so much as a snide comment about Nick trying to order him around. He slings dirt silently, practically zoning out over the manual labor as Nick watches from his side of the room. It's almost like he's in a trance or something, and it's only broken when the shovel scrapes against the wooden floorboards. He comes to a sudden stop, staring at the floor in surprise. He looks up and around, fixing a sour glare at the wide-open back porch that Nick is standing guard in front of before finally looking at Nick himself.

"That's it?"

"Hell no, it isn't," Nick sighs, gesturing towards the beam that he'd dragged in from the woodpile outside. It doesn't rain much nowadays, so it hasn't gone to rot, and it should be just about level with the supports in the ceiling. Plus, it's already got the right hardware attached, and most of it even survived the nuclear blast.

"Come on," he tells John, "You're putting this up."

Still no backtalk, not even as Nick gets his own hands dirty and helps John prop the beam up. He remains silent as Nick fastens it in place with the only three-inch bolts left in America. It's a temporary solution, but Nick's proud of it anyway, and he steps back to admire the work. He has to admit, even if John  _ is _ planning something, at least his plan involves actually being useful.

"That should work for now," he says. He scratches the back of his head as he regards John — what does he do with the guy now? It seems like a waste to just... jam him back up there. He's obviously capable of working, and that's what Nick said he'd do — break his back with manual labor, right?

"Well, now that we're done with that... I guess you can get to work shoveling the rest of this dirt outta here. It's been pretty low on the list, but it's not like  _ you've _ got anything better to do."

"No, I suppose not."

"Hey now, what happened to  _ just saying yes _ ?" Nick grins, feeling mean but  _ still _ pretty funny for it. John scowls, but he's just not the right audience for the joke, so his opinion doesn't count.

" _ Yes, sir _ ," John replies. He's probably just being a dick, but the way he says it roils Nick's stomach on impact.

"Hey, none of that shit," Nick snaps, even though he probably should lean into the boss role while he can. "Just — don't be a fucking weirdo about this, okay?"

John frowns and doesn't respond. He doesn't need Nick to instruct him any further, returning to work with the shovel as though he's forgotten he ever stopped. Nick keeps an eye on him as he has lunch, waiting for John to drop the weird, quiet obedience act that he's been putting on. It  _ has _ to be an act. John's just using their mercy for his own ends, using them for shelter and food while waiting for the opportunity to strike. To take the house and the guns, to take control of everything that he'd felt so obligated to eight years ago.

An hour goes by in silence. John works steadily, almost meditatively shoveling down to the floorboards, dumping shovelfuls of dirt out the nearest window to him. He's lost in his thoughts, so much so that he doesn't seem to notice as he clears out nearly half of the living room, the shovel scraping against wood like the beat of the drum that's distracting the poor motherfucker.

Eventually, Nick can't help but point out, "You don't talk as much as you used to."

John doesn't so much as look at him, which is more irritating than Nick wants to let on. What, is  _ he _ supposed to shut up now, too? Forget  _ that _ !

"I mean, you used to never shut the fuck up. Guess even  _ you _ couldn't stand listening to yourself for eight years solid, huh?"

John grunts in response. He doesn't look so hot; his face is pale and drenched in sweat, and he seems to be relying on the shovel to steady himself. Nick squints, trying to figure out whether or not the guy is trying to pull a fast one on him — it's exactly the kind of thing Nick would do, if he were being held captive — but John doesn't seem to notice Nick's scrutiny at all. He seems miles away from the house, from himself.

Goddamn it. The more Nick watches, the less comfortable he becomes. "Alright, come on," Nick sighs, exasperation masking his discomfort at seeing John near-fainting. "That's enough for one day, now sit down before you fall down."

It's a toss-up which of those options John takes, but moments later he's flopped backward into the mound of dirt. He leaves streaks of mud across his face where he wipes away the sweat. Nick watches, waiting for the asshole to spring his trap, but John looks sincerely too beat up to try wrestling the gun away or making a break for it. His hair, thick with dust, clumps over his face, dropping into his eyes no matter how many times he tries to smooth it back.

To his personal horror, he finds himself offering John his canteen. He should leave John to drink his own spit with their fresh water supply as low as it is. It's what the man deserves. But they've wasted too much time and supplies on John to be stingy with the water now.

"Don't get too comfortable lying in the dirt," Nick points out, "I'm gonna put you back before Kim and Carmina get home."

John nods without complaint. He takes careful sips of water, like he's trying to mind how much he's taking, which is a fucking riot coming from the guy who did nothing but take, take,  _ take _ for years.

"It's the nursery, isn't it?"

Nick stares down at the dirty bastard in confusion. "What?"

"The room," John repeats with a suspicious lack of irritation. "It was going to be the nursery."

Nick scowls. "Yeah," he says. "Not that it ever panned out."

John holds the canteen out for Nick to take back, which he does. "No," he admits, "It certainly did not."

"No thanks to you." Nick takes a thirsty swig of water. "None of you got a chance to raid our bunker, but there were a lot of other people who weren't so lucky. Lots of people didn't even have a house to hide in."

"Yes," John sighs, "I know."

The nerve John has to brush aside the damage he's done momentarily overwhelms Nick, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's chucking the canteen at John's head in a vicious game of dodge-ball that John just barely wins. "No, you  _ don't _ know.  _ You _ managed to find somewhere to survive for  _ eight years,  _ while good, honest people were left to rot away on the surface and suffer through nuclear winter because  _ you _ burned down their houses,  _ you _ stole their supplies,  _ you _ ruined their lives! You destroyed  _ everything _ before the police ever showed up! You sorry assholes kept talking about the Collapse while all of us were already living through it! Because  _ of you _ !  _ You know _ ?  _ Fuck _ you!"

Nick reaches his hand out to grab John, to — to strangle him, to  _ shake him _ , anything to stop him from sitting there and staring cow-eyed up at him. Waiting for Nick to exact a physical price for all the anguish that he's caused, waiting for the inevitable retribution that he deserves.

But eight years is a long time to carry so much righteous anger. Nick must've set it down somewhere along the way; now that it's time to resume that bitter loathing, he finds himself coming up short. Honestly, he's too goddamn old for it. He's too tired. Eight years of fatherhood and living past the end of mankind has run the rage right out of him. The idea of expending that much effort just exhausts him. What would even be the point? John isn't even worth it.

"Just — get up," Nick sighs at last. "Kim'll be back in a while and I... don't want to look at you anymore."

John slumps into himself as he stands, shoulders caving in as he avoids looking higher than Nick's boots. He proceeds without complaint or comment up the stairs; despite that, Nick still braces himself for a surprise attack, his hand clinging to the holster. He stops at the doorway behind John, waiting for some trap to spring and feeling oddly put out when nothing happens.

"I'll bring you dinner later," Nick tells him. "From now on, you're only getting a second meal on days you work."

John nods in response, falling into his makeshift bed with as much grace as he had the dirt pile downstairs. Nick's not sure he's gonna be awake the next time he checks in, but that's probably for the best. Nick doesn't like watching the guy eat, and he hates having to interact with him.

When John fails to say anything, Nick uses his silence as an exit and quickly locks John away. He'll probably sleep until dinner, which means he'll spend all night muttering to himself again. That's  _ just _ what Nick needs.

There's still time before Kim gets back with Carmina. Nick drags the dining table into the living room, taking a minute to marvel at the amount of dirt John managed to clear out. Maybe tomorrow, Kim can take Carmina on a hike or something so that he can have John do the rest of the room. Once the dirt's all cleared out, they'll be able to build proper doors for the back porch, instead of leaving it open to the elements and potential prison breaks. After that, who knows? Maybe they'll be able to string lights up in here like they did back at the Spread Eagle. They could actually find a use for the generator. Hurk was on the radio recently, boasting about party liquor and gasoline — maybe they could barter for fuel?

Thinking more than a year ahead is jumping the gun a little, especially considering they have to get through another winter without heat, but this is the first time Nick's let himself imagine that far. Kim is already prepping for next year, of course, but Nick's still a little stuck on bunker time, where everything felt like a tightrope walk to survive and keep sane. But now, well — there's floor space, and Nick's even stacked plates and silverware on the kitchen counter for dinner. It's progress that he can't miss, and for once he breathes a sigh of relief and actually  _ feels _ relieved.

Kim and Carmina come back before dusk with three rabbits and, in Carmina's case, a turkey so big that it nearly drags on the ground as she carries it on her back. "Shot it herself," Kim tells him, dropping the rabbits on the table. She does it almost without a second thought, wrapping her arms around Nick before realizing, "Oh, the table's back!"

Nick grins. "Figured we could use the extra space. Look at you, kiddo!" Nick turns his attention to Carmina, who still has the turkey slung triumphantly over her shoulder. "That is one big bird."

"Yeah," she says, trying to look as casually confident as her mom. She can't help but brag, "It was coming right at us. I had to do  _ something. _ "

"That's my girl," Nick says, "I need somebody to protect your mom whenever I'm not around."

"Hey," Kim protests, playfully shoving out of her supposedly loving husband's grasp, "I can protect myself, you two. Carmina, take that thing into the kitchen and start plucking."

Heaving a very exasperated sigh she must have lifted off of her dad, Carmina drags the limp poultry away. Kim watches her go with a satisfied smile, telling Nick, "She's got great eyesight. I didn't even notice it in the grass."

"Thank God. Can you imagine if she needed glasses out here? We would be royally screwed. So! What do you think?"

Kim looks back at the clear floor and the table with four legs on solid ground. "I admit, I'm impressed," she says. "I expected to come back to a funeral pyre. But look, you even got the support in!" She furrows her brows at him. "Did you have any trouble?"

"Nah. Actually, it was... uh, painfully easy. He didn't put up a fight or anything."

"Hmm."

Nick's not sure what Kim's thinking as she eyes the progress that's been made. Maybe she's wondering what John's endgame is, the same way Nick wonders. She's probably worrying about how to explain it to anyone who might ask about it — Grace, mostly, maybe Jerome, if he'd ever come out this way. Nick's sure he can just take credit and leave it at that, but maybe she's seeing some hidden angle that he hasn't caught on to yet?

"If we string some lights up in here," Kim points out thoughtfully, "We might actually be able to use the bottom floor, instead of camping outside all day."

"Hey," Nick laughs, "That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Am I supposed to pluck this whole thing  _ myself _ ?" Carmina exclaims in horror from the kitchen.

"I'll be right there, honey," Nick calls, offering Kim a chair at the table. She takes it with a grateful smile, leaning into his hand as he briefly strokes her hair. "Not bad for a day's worth of work, huh?"

"Not bad," Kim agrees. Nick heads for the kitchen, unable to keep from humming some old-world song he can't remember the words to, happy to put aside his doubts about John for a couple of hours yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone :) thank you so much for all of your support! i appreciate each and every comment, like, kudos, reblog, vague reference to a friend you've made, etc etc. i never expected other people to enjoy my self-indulgent trash, but i'm glad you're all here with me! if you see any errors, please feel free to let me know, and if you enjoy what i'm doing, consider sharing the fic and visiting my tumblr @foxtophat :)


	5. Winter Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter comes to Hope County, which means short days, long nights, and snow. It's enough to make everybody want to cuddle up in warm blankets -- which is easier said than done if you're John Seed.

The whole "keeping John as a prisoner" thing starts to fall into routine around the two-week mark. It only takes a few days for John to learn to be awake by the time Nick comes in, dressed and ready to eat quick. A few days later and he's finished clearing the first story out, surprised when the job comes to an end, as if he'd really thought all Nick needed from him was a few days of house-cleaning. Joke's on him — Nick and Kim find no shortage of tasks for John to complete, which he does without complaint. He might scoff at some of the requests, but that doesn't stop him from obediently doing as he's told.

They use John to repair the roof, board up the lower windows and reinforce supports. He drags heavy debris from the house, separating the useful from the useless under Kim's watchful eye. Nick puts him to work repairing the fences that have already blown down after less than a year. One day has him scaling the side of the house, and then the next, he'll be literally down in the dirt.

Sometimes, John can work all day before Nick has to tell him to stop; other times, he'll only manage a few short hours before he looks ready to collapse on the spot. Nick suspects he isn't sleeping enough, but that doesn't mean he's getting out of anything. He has work for John even when he can barely stand up straight, like pulling screws from old shed siding and sorting through boxes of random components. The little, nearly pointless chores that have gotten put off solely for being too trifling make perfect work for an exhausted ex-cultist.

There are times, sure, when John acts...  _ weird _ . He'll be solemnly working one minute, then jittery and distracted in the next. Sometimes, he'll get...  _ uncomfortably _ obedient, meticulously following instructions and standing helpless when he's not being actively told what to do. But you know, even Nick's favorite drill had a wonky power-cord and a quirky backspin. He's used to making the most out of old tools like John Seed.

Two weeks is about as long as they can keep Carmina away from home while John is working. It's Kim who caves first on the issue, as they hit a wall coming up with things to do out of the house. It's easier to teach Carmina at home, for one thing. She can't get distracted or attacked by a wild animal while learning how to read or being taught history or math. There's also the fact that winter is coming on soon, and being outside all day simply won't be feasible forever. And anyway, it's safer to have two sets of eyes on John, in case he decides to pull something.

Neither of them are sure what to tell Carmina. They'd done their best to teach her about their history, but growing up in the bunker had kept her from understanding just how bad things had been. She knows about Eden's Gate, the Seeds, her godparent — but it's just a series of fables for her. She's touched Nick's scarred chest with wide-eyed wonder and hugged them through their night terrors in a way a child should never have to comfort their parents, but everything else is hearsay and tall tales. Now that they have the culprit living on their land,  _ working _ for them — how are they supposed to explain that to her?

It turns out not to matter all that much. Once Carmina sees the man that's been secretly living in the house with them, she almost immediately loses interest. John had been a mysterious figure, someone her parents refused to talk about around her, but it looks like his gaunt appearance, heavy beard and long, scraggly hair has dissolved the mystery pretty promptly. Carmina takes one good look at John as he pries stripped screws from an old crate, wrinkles her nose, and turns back to homework. She doesn't even ask why he's working all the time, who he is,  _ anything _ . It's such a strong dismissal that even Nick feels the burn.

It's a good thing John isn't his old, charismatic self, or else they might be dealing with it differently. The last thing Nick needs is for him to put a bunch of  _ weird ideas _ in his kid's head.

Fall is dead and gone before Nick knows it, and winter sweeps in all around them. It's colder than it used to be, and the days are painfully short. It doesn't take long before the morning frost becomes all-day frost. The radio chatter these days implies that most of the county has gone into hibernation mode, bunkering down and preparing to wait out the season. From what Nick knows of living above-ground, the past winters have been literally killer. It's a lesson that everyone seems to have learned by now.

Nick is surprised by the first snowfall, although Kim has been expecting it for days now. It isn't much, barely enough to cover the ground with powder, but it's enough to bring all four of them inside before dark. Nick watches John like a hawk as he sorts out different screws from different projects, keeping him seated on the stairs while Kim and Carmina get into an argument about the use of multiplication tables after the apocalypse. Nick doesn't really see the point either, but then again, he was easily ten years old before he understood his times-tables.

For the first time, Nick doesn't bother to lock John away before dinner, letting him stay on the stairs to eat. First, though, Nick has him drag the large, makeshift cover across the back porch. It's not bad for a piecemeal DIY job Nick threw together in an afternoon, but it's heavy as shit and it completely buries the lower floor in darkness. Their sole oil lamp isn't enough to completely dissipate the gloom, but at least they can see what they're eating. John, sitting at the edge of the ring of light, eats slowly, casting furtive glances at the darkness.

The night turns from chilly to bitterly cold, which is enough to encourage everyone upstairs. Kim and Carmina become professional bed-makers, knowing exactly which blankets should be used to cushion the dirty mattress of the bed and which ones are best for bundling up in. Lately, Carmina's been really into nest-styled sleeping, which has its benefits during the coldest season of the year. Nick can't say he minds getting to cuddle with his family all night — come springtime, the heat will set back in and Carmina will start kicking all the blankets off again. Before long, she's gonna need her own space, and then Nick can kiss this cozy winter set-up goodbye.

Nick doesn't need to goad John into moving. He slips off the stairs before Carmina and Kim pass him, hovering by the support beam and staring at Nick expectantly.

"Well?" Nick asks, gesturing, "Get going."

John hustles up the stairs, shuddering in his borrowed coat. Nick follows behind, pistol holstered and oil lamp raised to give them all some light to work with. Kim is already lighting the bedroom candles by the time Nick reaches the landing, while Carmina has begun meticulously organizing the bed to her standards. Nick can see them both from the doorway as he marches John to the spare room, turning the cold room cozy just with their presence.

John doesn't wait for Nick to order him into his room. He goes willingly, eagerly even, quick to bundle up in his rough blankets. He doesn't even notice Nick watching him from the doorway, pulling off his shoes like he's eager to climb into his homemade bed. The room is practically a freezer, which might be because Nick hasn't bothered to properly board up the windows in here. Wind whistles through inch-wide gaps, sucking out the body-heat Nick is hoping to share with his family.

"You gonna be good in here?" Nick asks, absolutely hating himself for his burst of pity. "Not, uh... too cold, or anything?"

"I guess we'll find out," John replies, shrugging the concern away.

"Guess so," Nick echoes unhappily, shutting the door with every intention of locking John in there like Schroedinger's Jack Torrence. But locking the door doesn't put his concerns entirely to rest. As Nick returns to his room, to Kim and Carmina climbing into a bed full of blankets and tanned hides, he finds himself wondering if John couldn't use an extra blanket or two.

Kim catches him watching and raises an eyebrow. "Everything okay?" she asks, knowing full well that he's probably over-thinking this whole "prisoner" thing again. She's been patient as hell with all his worrying. Nick really doesn't wanna find her limit.

"Yeah," Nick replies, "Of course it is."

Carmina pulls a well-worn copy of  _ The Wizard of Oz _ out from under the mattress, handing it to Kim for her to flip to the right page. "Is John cold?" she asks, frowning skeptically at her dad. "Is he allowed to have more blankets?"

"What?" Nick asks. She stares back expectantly, until Nick shakes his head and says, "Of course he's allowed to have... I mean, he hasn't asked for any..."

"Don't worry about John," Kim says, gently chastising both of them as she puts an arm around Carmina's shoulders. "Come on, we're almost to the flying monkeys."

It's easy for Carmina to forget about a guy she's never so much as said "hello" to. For Nick, it's a bit more of a struggle. He tries to pay attention while Kim and Carmina take turns reading passages, but they've read this damn book at least a dozen times. Granted, they only have so many books appropriate for a girl Carmina's age — it's either this or one of Nick's old Hardy Boys novels. Thankfully, as the three of them curl up under the covers, Nick gets warm enough to fall asleep, putting John out of his mind at last.

——

Nick wakes up with a few less blankets than he started with, his teeth chattering as he curls under the remaining deerskin. Kim and Carmina are huddled together to one side of the bed, having absorbed the other blankets he'd fallen asleep under. If he wants to get them back, he's probably going to have to wake one of them up.

If he's cold, then John's probably freezing.

Jesus, he's barely awake ten seconds before he's worrying again! This is ridiculous But... his concerns aren't entirely unfounded. John doesn't have the benefit of shared body-heat and excessive bedding — Nick's not sure he'd even count the blankets he  _ does _ have as bedding to begin with. And — well, he's been doing everything that they've told him to, without bitching or half-assing anything. It's only fair to reward him for good behavior, isn't it?

"Kim," Nick hisses, nudging her until she grunts something like his name in response. "I'm, uh, gonna check in on John."

"Why," Kim groans quietly. One hand slips out of the blankets to cover Carmina's ear, in case she isn't still dead asleep. "It's cold, come back to bed."

"That's why," Nick replies. "He's got to need another blanket."

"We've been waiting for him to die for weeks," Kim mumbles, "Can't you just let mother nature do her job?"

"It doesn't feel right," Nick whispers. Kim sighs in response and he immediately backpedals, sure that he's finally found the end to that seemingly infinite supply of patience. "I know, we've been more than fair, I should just ignore it, it's dumb."

Kim shakes her head. "No, that's not it. I mean... you're right. It's not like I..." Kim pauses, belatedly waking up enough to check that Carmina is still asleep before admitting, "It's not like  _ I _ want to be the one to bury him, you know?"

Nick  _ does _ know. He'd been assuming  _ he'd _ be the one doing that part. "Could always leave him for the wolves," Nick offers half-heartedly.

"As if they'd want any of  _ that _ ," Kim scoffs, tired enough to be offended on the hypothetical wolves' behalf.

"Look, I'm only gonna give him an extra blanket. It's the bare minimum. Not because we feel sorry for him or anything."

Kim nods, checking Carmina once again for any signs of secretly listening. Thankfully, Carmina sleeps like a fucking log. "Yeah," she agrees. "It's so we don't feel sorry for ourselves."

John is awake when Nick goes to check on him, and he looks fucking miserable. He's trembling, wrapped up in a poor attempt to conserve heat, although he manages to keep his teeth from chattering after Nick opens the door. Nick was right to worry; it's even colder in here than he'd expected. The gaps in the boarded window are wide enough to wash the room in pale moonlight, which just makes the whole room feel even more frosty and alien.

All at once, the blanket he's about to offer doesn't feel like it'll be anywhere near enough. John probably won't freeze to death, but there's a good chance that he might not be healthy enough to fight off the chill. If he gets sick again, that'll be another week or so where they'll be feeding John for free.

"You cold?" Nick asks, hoping that pointing out the obvious will earn him a comeback that'll dim his sympathy. He needs to not feel bad for a man who's tortured and murdered too many people to count. He's a fucking monster, a psychotic maniac. So what if he's cold? So what if he can't sleep? So what if he freezes to death?

John drops his eyes to the blanket in Nick's hand.

"Yes," he rasps.

With a heavy sigh, Nick balls up the blanket and chucks it at John, who grabs it out of the air and immediately adds it to his cocoon. To Nick's absolute horror, John opens his big mouth and says, "Thank you." His gratitude seems genuinely given, as though Nick has finally brought reprieve to some kind of agony, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable weight on Nick's shoulders.

Nick knows he's getting played. He must be. John knows he's a sap, and he's a manipulative liar who was willing to threaten Nick's unborn child to get what he wanted,  _ of course _ he's doing this on purpose. He's not above pretending to be pathetic for attention, of course he isn't. The worst part is that, even though Nick knows all of that, he still can't help but fall for it.

"You — you're welcome," he says. "Shit, it's freezing in here. Has it been like this all winter?"

"Not  _ all _ winter," John mutters, like an asshole.

"You should have said something," Nick snaps, "I woulda... done something before now. You could've gotten a couple extra blankets out of me."

John silently pulls the new blanket tighter over himself, and Nick's irritation returns with a weird, unhealthy dollop of sorrow for the stupid asshole. "Fine, be that way," he snaps. He wishes he could slam the door to make a point, but Carmina is still asleep and he'd like to keep it that way.

When he gets back to the bedroom, Nick's first thought is of how much warmer it is than he'd realized. He's been deceptively comfortable this whole winter, not knowing that John's been freezing half to death at night just down the hall. Maybe if John weren't so useful, he could brush off his worries. Maybe if he weren't such a stupid coward, he could be satisfied with the good he's already done for that sack of shit.

"Kim," he calls softly, "You still up?"

"No," Kim mumbles. "What?"

"I, uh... think we need to bring John in here."

" _ What _ ?" Kim repeats, craning her neck to stare at him. Carmina grunts against her, thankfully burrowing under the blankets instead of waking up.

"I know, I know, but — it's fuckin'  _ cold _ in there, Kim. The window's still broke, I never got around to properly boarding it up and —"

"What did he say to convince you this would be a good idea?"

Nick sighs. "He didn't say anything, that's the worst part. I'm doing all the convincing myself." He waits for her to say something, but she doesn't, so he repeats himself helplessly. "It really is cold in there. I.. I don't think I can leave him like that."

Kim looks at him as though he's grown a second head, and she can't decide if it's more or less attractive than the one she married. "He has to be restrained," she says at last. "And you keep him away from Carmina. Even if that means you don't get any sleep at all."

"Yeah," Nick replies. "I can do that."

"I'll have the rifle next to me," she adds. "If he pulls something..."

"Of course," he says.

Nick takes his deerskin, an extra blanket and two pillows, and tosses them into the far corner. He takes the shoulder strap off of the rifle as well, holding it up for Kim to sleepily approve of as an impromptu rope. Nick's not sure what he's going to do if John rejects the terms of this offer, but he's hoping he won't have to look like an ass for suggesting it.

John is still awake when Nick returns. He stares apprehensively as Nick approaches with the length of cord, but he doesn't try to bolt.

"Hands out," Nick orders, gesturing towards his hidden arms. When John hesitates, he sighs and adds, "I'm not gonna  _ hurt _ you, come on."

John's brow furrows. "Then what are you going to  _ do _ ?"

"I'm gonna make sure you can't murder me in the middle of the night. Do you wanna sit here and freeze to death, or what?"

That doesn't seem to do much to reassure John, but Nick doesn't need him reassured, he needs him to follow orders. Finally, he holds out his hands, staring skeptically at Nick as his teeth chatter against his will. He doesn't resist as Nick secures his bony wrist.

Once he's satisfied, Nick drags John onto his feet. "Get your stuff," he tells John, "I'm not sharing my blankets with you."

John does what he's told, quickly scooping up the blankets that have fallen to the wayside. Nick gestures for the door, but John only manages to reach the doorway before he stops.

"Hey, get moving," Nick says, scowling as John resists at the doorway. When he doesn't budge, Nick hisses, "Don't get any ideas, now. Kim and I are both armed, and —"

"I know," John replies. His heavy, hooded eyes find Nick's, searching him suspiciously for some hint at his master plan. "Why are you doing this?"

Nick sighs. He's not about to tell John he's taking pity on him, and it's not like John is going to believe Nick's doing this simply because he feels bad. He briefly considers forgetting the whole plan to save himself the trouble of explaining himself. "I'm lazy and I don't wanna have to carry your dead weight downstairs," he snaps. "Either you keep your mouth shut and come with me, or you can sit in here and freeze."

John goes quietly from there. Kim is awake when Nick marches him into the room, and she regards the entire procession with extreme distrust. That's fair. Nick doesn't trust it anymore himself, and he's the one who had the idea in the first place. She doesn't say anything, but she watches as Nick points John to a spot against the far wall.

Nick thinks John will comment on the temperature change, but he doesn't. He also refrains from commenting as Nick settles against the wall next to him with his own set of blankets. Nick nearly tells John not to get comfortable, but that would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? What he should do is tell John not to get  _ used _ to it — tomorrow, Nick's gonna fix that window and ensure that this won't happen again.

There's no way that Nick is going to get a good night's sleep tonight. He can't afford to slip off and leave John effectively unwatched around his family. Thankfully, that's not gonna be a problem — after three tries he gives up on trying to find a comfortable position and settles for sitting slumped against the wall like a kid waiting for gym class to end. He's got a good view of his comfortable bed and lovely, sleeping family, and he's just within grappling range in case John makes a break for it. With how exhausted John looked today, he probably won't have to worry too much on that front.

At first, Nick expects John to lie down and get some rest, but as time passes he finds that isn't the case. John remains sitting, holding the blankets close to him with his bound hands. His gaze is fixed on the floor every time Nick looks over. Despite how much he's improved since they took him in, John still reacts sluggishly, dragging himself through chores without complaint but also without energy. The perpetual exhaustion that seems to come with surviving hasn't missed him, even as he lived quietly by himself for eight years.

Eventually, John lifts his eyes to rest on the bed opposite them. Nick doesn't notice it at first, halfway into a doze himself. When he does, his first instinct is to tell John to knock it off, but John's pensive stare stops him. Whatever John's thinking about, Kim and Carmina are only distantly related — he seems miles away as usual, wound up tight in his own thoughts.

He isn't trembling anymore, though, and his teeth aren't chattering either. Nick can count that as a win, at least.

"Was it difficult?" John asks, right as Nick's about to nod off again. He jumps a little, surprised by the question, confused until John elaborates quietly, "Raising her after the world ended."

"It was never gonna be a picnic," Nick sighs, too tired to work himself into an outrage over John's interest in his family. It's not like knowing about their post-apocalyptic baby-rearing is going to give John leverage. He shifts, sighs again and admits, "Yeah, it was. Not as bad as it could've been if we hadn't had the bunker, though."

For the first time, Nick wonders if John ever wanted kids. The way he'd talked about his past back in the day, the way the deputy would talk about him, well, Nick wouldn't be surprised to find the guy had a slew of bastard children, all of them scraping by on child support and harboring awful thoughts towards their psychotic dad. The idea of John being a  _ father _ , of having control of and being responsible for a child, it's downright ludicrous. There's a lot to be said about passing on your own traumas to your kids, and John already has a habit of making his problems everyone else's. An actual child of his would probably be messed up before it could walk.

"You know, in a weird way, the cult prepared us for the worst. We moved all of our supplies down there so you couldn't come steal them. When the bombs dropped, we didn't have to worry about baby formula or non-perishables."

John lets out a quiet breath. "If only others were as smart as you," he rasps.

"Or, you know, you could have respected other people's property."

"Yeah," John sighs. "I guess so."

Nick skeptically eyeballs John, whose own gaze has dropped back to the floor. Nick has taken every opportunity to remind John that at least  _ part _ of the state of things is his fault. So far, John hasn't disagreed with him, quietly accepting blame whenever it's laid on him, even when Nick himself figures he's reaching a little. Nick had assumed he was just doing what was best for his survival, but tonight he can't help but admit that John at least  _ seems _ sincere. Sure, sincerity doesn't mean much coming from a notorious liar, but if he's trying to play Nick, he's doing a good job. Nick would never have expected John capable of acting so sympathetic.

"Get some sleep," Nick sighs, resting his head back against the wall. "It's gonna be a long night if you don't."

John doesn't sleep. Nick can feel the hour dragging by, and he knows the next one is going to be just as godawfully tedious, but John doesn't so much as rest his eyes for a minute. This time of night, Nick will sometimes hear John muttering from his room, which means that this might just be John's normal routine. He probably stays awake until his body shuts down against his will, the same way Nick and Kim used to when they first started sleeping topside. Nick's not sure  _ why _ , though — there hasn't been so much as a hint of trouble since Nick brought him here. If he's worried either Nick or Kim are going to pull something on him, then he's being ridiculous. If he's staying up all the time waiting for his brother to swoop in and rescue him from being the enemy's slave labor, well, he's going to be waiting a hell of a lot longer than he already has.

Although Nick drifts here and there, he manages to keep enough of his wits about him to notice when John finally nods off. The nap lasts all of fifteen minutes before a hypnic jerk jolts him back into consciousness. His hands reach up, palms braced upwards in front of his face, then drop just as quickly, and he sucks in a huge breath through his gritted teeth. His head jerks from side to side as he stares uncomprehendingly at the room around him, catching sight of Nick and staring at him with glassy-eyed panic.

"What?" Nick snaps quietly, as if John's nightmare will respect his sleep-deprived irritation. "Quit staring."

John's eyes dart back to the dark space around them. He stares at the bed for only a second or two before seeming to think better of it, choosing to close his eyes entirely.

Nick had never understood the way Dep had pitied the Seeds, each one earning Rook's sympathy in some way or form. He'd had plenty of arguments with them over it, especially whenever John was concerned. Nick simply didn't believe the sob stories the Seeds wanted to spin, and the fact that the deputy wanted to hem and haw over shooting them had been, well, a little offensive, honestly. The only one he'd ever really felt bad for was Rachel, and by the time she became Faith, he'd gotten tired of feeling sorry for a bunch of crazy cult ladies. Sympathy never was something the cult looked for, even while they peddled pitiable lies about themselves. Maybe that's why it was so weird when the deputy freely gave it.

"Just..." Nick sighs, scrubbing his beard heavily. "Relax, alright?" he whispers, "Nothing's gonna jump out at you."

"I know," John replies. He doesn't sound sure about it at all. Frustration wells up in his voice as he hisses, "Why can't I  _ sleep _ anymore?"

The question is definitely rhetorical, but Nick considers how to respond anyway. He knows that his family is lucky — they have a defensible location and enough weapons that they don't have to worry about being attacked in their sleep. It wasn't always like that, though. The house had been torn apart, and wild dogs were all over the place, which had been especially terrible considering they were about the right size to snatch a seven-year-old up and make off with her. It'll be two years this spring since they started taking their home back, and it's all of that effort and their good fortune that's made their lives safer.

Most of the other people they've met haven't been so lucky. Finding intact, structurally-safe shelter is a roll of the dice out here, so a lot of people have had to rebuild from the ground up. They have to defend against wildlife, arrogant looters and desperate scavengers, and a lot of them have to do it on their own. Even Grace sometimes mentions thieves coming for her armory, and she's made herself a decent stronghold. Combine that initial survival instinct with the fact that John's only recently climbed out of the bunker, and it's no wonder that he's having trouble sleeping.

"It'll sort itself out if you'd just  _ relax _ ."

John jolts as if being abruptly awakened, not expecting a response and definitely not expecting a sympathetic one. But Nick is tired, and damn it, Rook's pity must've rubbed off him. You'd think sympathy would have a shorter half-life than eight years.

"Your internal clock is shot, that's all. It happens when you come out of the ground. You don't have to be an over-dramatic asshole about it."

He means for it to be an insult, but the nature of the conversation and his own tiredness soften the blow. He can't help it. It's a hard adjustment to make, and he remembers having to do it himself. It had been pretty awful when he'd managed to get back on a nocturnal sleeping schedule and Kim hadn't... mostly because Carmina thought that meant she could stay up all night  _ and _ all day.

"You got about four hours left until sunrise," Nick says, whispering even though he's definitely woken up Kim by now. "You're gonna need those hours of sleep when we head out to the hangar tomorrow." He gestures loosely with a hand. "Just — lie down and close your eyes. It's so easy a kid can do it."

For a moment, John looks irritated at being instructed on how to sleep, but he doesn't argue the point. Slowly, he sinks down, lying with his back pressed against the wall. There had been a few feet separating them, but now Nick can't even put his hand down next to him without feeling the curls of John's hair. Ugh, they've been putting it off, but  _ somebody _ is going to have to do  _ something _ about the matted mess John's got. This Tarzan-slash-doomsday-prepper look is disgusting, and it can't possibly be hygienic.

John doesn't speak for the rest of the night. Nick doesn't know for sure if he's really sleeping — other than his hands and his matted hair, John is pretty thoroughly bundled against the cold — but at least he keeps quiet and pretends to get some rest. The last thing Nick needs is for John to be so weak tomorrow that he needs  _ more _ coddling. Nick's sympathy is in short supply and bound to run out soon, so John better be sleeping through the exhaustion crazies.

For his part, Nick mostly just dozes, sliding in and out of focus but never quite managing to fall asleep. He's afforded a rare view of his family from the outside, although mostly all he can see is the back of Carmina's head. She's wound up tight in the first deerskin she ever had a hand in tanning, which has become her go-to blanket during this winter. He can still remember Carmina complaining about the smell and almost throwing up when she first started scraping. Nowadays, she has no trouble getting her hands dirty.

It's not the kind of life that he had imagined for her, but Nick's glad Carmina seems to be adapting. Hell, she's more accustomed to this life than Nick is — he grew up out here, sure, but the tamed wilderness of an unincorporated county is a hell of a lot different than the wilds they now live in. It's been a hell of a learning curve, and Nick's not sure he's gotten the hang of it yet. It's funny — he used to imagine his kid scoffing at him for not understanding some new technology or internet fad, teasing him for not getting what the kids were all about. He has no idea what kind of stuff Carmina's gonna school him on in the future these days — all he can hope is that it won't have anything to do with blood or bullets.

The sun starts to lighten the deep murk of the room. Kim rolls away from the windows, throwing an arm over Carmina's shoulders. She might be sleeping now, but Nick bets it's been hard to come by. No matter how much she might have agreed with his reasoning, there's no way Kim's been sleeping for long with John in the room.

Nick waits another thirty minutes or so before he gives in and shakes John's shoulder. He does it gently enough at first that John doesn't react, which at least assures Nick that the bastard managed to fall asleep after all. Should Nick feel good about that? He's not sure. It's sort of irritating him at this point in his sleep-deprived state, but it  _ is _ what he wanted. At least he knows John will be able to handle working later.

"Hey," he hisses, shaking John harder this time and earning a muffled grunt in response. "Time to put you back."

That manages to get a reaction, although it's a little  _ much. _ John jerks away from Nick's hand, hitting the wall with a muffled thump. "No," he gasps. Nick can't quite tell if he's still asleep or not from here.

" _ Hey _ ," Nick repeats under his breath, grabbing hold of John's shoulder. "Quit squirming."

"You can't," John pleads, trying in vain to twist out of Nick's grip. He's not trying very hard, probably because he's sleep-addled and confused, but Nick shouldn't be fooled by that. He should know better than to let John get the jump on him.

Despite himself, he lets go. John doesn't bolt, doesn't even move in response, trapped staring at Nick until Nick quietly explains, "I'm talking about your room. Just down the hall."

John doesn't seem to believe him at first, his bound hands grasping at each other as he tries to catch his breath. But eventually, he nods once, very stiffly.

Nick waits until he's pulled John outside of the room to comment, standing in the chilly hall next to John's door. "Look, you don't have to worry about —"

John cuts him off. "Don't do that," he snaps, trying to hide the tremble of anxiety in his voice. "I'll do whatever you tell me to do, just — don't."

Nick should push the issue. At the very least to remind John that he's not in the position to make demands. But, damn it, if John doesn't want to talk about it, why the hell should Nick? He barely likes talking about his own problems, and he's invested in how that baggage is handled. John's a whole goddamn shipping container of twisted thoughts and terrible coping mechanisms, and that's a load that Nick doesn't want to carry.

Honestly, he's relieved. As long as John's nightmares motivate him to continue not being a monstrous asshole, Nick's fine with ignoring them altogether. Bring on the night terrors, as long as they keep John docile, right?

"Fine, whatever." He half-heartedly pushes John through the doorway, only realizing afterward that some snowfall managed to drift in during the night. There's a dusting of light powder on the floor around the window, which will melt into an unhelpful slush once the sun comes up. If the room was too cold to sleep in before, it's got to be worse now.

John ignores Nick as he waffles by the door, retreating back to the tarp he'd left behind. Sure, it's still freezing in here, but the sun is coming up. That should keep the worst of it away.

Nick stands awkwardly in the doorway as John crawls back into his bed, a few feet from a patch of soft snowfall. He doesn't seem willing to look back at Nick, rolling to face the wall as he lies down. Which — is fine. Should be fine. Nick shouldn't care one bit whether or not John wants to talk.

"Feel better?" Kim asks, once he's back in their room and crawling gratefully into the still-warm bed. He'd abandoned one more blanket to John's bundle, then locked him up as if everything were fine — because it is. Right? The risk had paid off, sort of, and now everything is back to the way it should be. So, of course he feels better.

Nick sighs with sleepy gratitude as he folds his cold arm over Carmina, squeezing Kim's shoulder as he questions his gut response. "Sure," he whispers, although it's not exactly the truth. He thinks about it some more, then elaborates. "I'll feel better once I fix that window."

"You're being too nice to him," she tells him, although she says it too fondly to be an admonishment. Still, she's going to run out of patience for his dumb ideas, his gut reactions and his lousy instincts. There's nobody on earth with that high a tolerance for dumbassery, no matter how well-intentioned it might be.

"I know, I know." Carmina presses her face into his chest, hopefully still asleep, and Kim's hand lifts to cover his hand on her shoulder. "Your dad was right," he jokes, closing his eyes, "You didn't marry a smart man."

"I didn't want to marry a smart man," Kim chuckles, "I wanted to marry a  _ good _ man."

She squeezes his hand. Nick's sure there's more to be said, but this isn't a conversation to have at daybreak after a sleepless night. Maybe later, they can figure out how to keep Nick from making stupid, potentially dangerous decisions like he did tonight. For now, there's a chance for a few hours of sleep in a warm bed with his family, and Nick isn't going to pass that up for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i would have deleted this note entirely but come on, this is my favorite chapter, i can't let you go without mentioning that!)


	6. A New World Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter ends, spring begins. Kim gives John a hair cut, while Carmina struggles with not being told the whole truth, and maybe makes a bad decision because of it.

The seasons seem to roll over without Nick ever really realizing it. The last snowfall was a week ago, and although the nights are still bitterly cold and long, the sun burns bright enough in the morning to chase the chills and frost away before noon. The vines that cover everything have begun to bud again, although it'll be a little while yet before they turn pink and blossom.

Nick is glad that spring is back, but coming out of semi-hibernation is a struggle. He wants to stay in bed, to pull on a few jackets and sit around the campfire, to work on the random DIY projects that kept him busy while they were partially snowed in. Now, it's time for Kim to start talking about planting again, and Carmina has started begging to go hunting with Aunt Grace, and the radio is coming to life every evening with people checking in after their own long winter rests. Hurk and Sharky are trying to peddle something they call _party liquor_ over their own channel, suspiciously refusing to outright call it moonshine, and Fall's End has begun broadcasting about retaking the farmland that's become home to monstrous bison and two-headed cows.

Sometimes, Nick thinks he's stuck going ten miles-per-hour while everyone else can switch gears at the drop of a hat. Adaptability is the second name of survival out here, but damn it, Nick needs a couple of days before he can start thinking about trading with other survivors, much less making the long-needed visits he's been putting off since they climbed out of the ground. He needs to go into Fall's End proper, to pay his respects to Mary May and visit Jerome. He also needs to go out and finally trade out for some hens, so they can have eggs more often, and so they have their own supply to barter with. He's got a list a mile long of things he has to do; so does Kim, for that matter, although she handles it better than he does.

At least they can use John to pick up the extra slack. John's the reason why Nick was able to clear junk out of the hangar, and why all of the trash from Carmina's old room has been taken outside and burned. Ever since Nick fixed the window in his room, John's been quicker to work and easier to instruct, and his weird habits have mostly died off. He still gets distracted during long, monotonous tasks, and he doesn't speak unless spoken to most of the time, but at least he's stopped pacing around and muttering all night, and he's starting to remember what table manners are.

The first unofficial day of spring is family haircut day. Carmina demands that Kim lop all of her long hair off, leaving her with a see-your-manager bob that Nick hopes she'll get tired of. Kim helps Nick out too, trimming up the back for him as he cuts his bushy beard down to just off his chin. Getting a clean shave is more trouble than it's worth these days, and Nick has long since gotten used to wearing a beard. Besides, Kim doesn't seem to mind the Kenny Loggins look one bit, pulling gently on his whiskers to steal a kiss once he's done.

After Nick, Kim cuts John's hair. Nick doesn't know how he feels about John being included in a family affair, but the guy needs it more than any of them. There's only so many bucket-baths one man can take, and John's hair seems to have absorbed more dirt than water could remove. Nick's not sure if it's actually eight years worth of grime that he's keeping in his tangled hair, but it's bad enough to need serious attention.

They do it upstairs in John's room with the door locked, while Carmina reads downstairs — Nick really doesn't need her asking questions about why John's being included on family haircut day, thanks. He stands by the door just in case Carmina tries to interrupt, or in the unlikely event that John tries to bolt, unhappily watching as Kim sits John down in a chair borrowed from downstairs.

John keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes as Kim assesses the damage, hands clasped tightly in his lap. When Kim huffs unhappily at the rat's nest she's facing, he drops his head so the hair can curtain his face.

Kim hacks off as much hair as she can, careful not to cut one side too much shorter than the other until she knows what she's got left to work with. She orbits slowly around John as she quietly trims away dreaded knots and grime-caked tangles, more focused on her work than on the dangerous psychopath who could grab her kitchen shears at any moment. As she trims his bangs back, John closes his eyes, and he keeps them that way even as she moves on, leaving his face exposed.

She wrinkles her nose as she clears enough hair to reveal John's destroyed ear, heavily scarred and torn from where the deputy shot him. She says nothing about it, but Nick can see from John's expression that it's all he's thinking about. Nick wonders if he can still hear out of it, or if his eardrum never recovered. He's never even thought about it before.

The space between the three of them starts to fill with the heaviness of unintentional silence, but Nick can't bring himself to break the quiet. He doesn't want to distract Kim or trigger some fighting instinct from John. And anyway, he doesn't know what he could say that would make this whole thing feel less weird.

"Well," Kim says, once she's stepped back to get a look at her handiwork, "I mean, it's... better."

It's a shaggier, poor man's version of what John's hair used to look like, but Nick can at least tell the hair that's left is clean. There's not enough hair for him to hide behind anymore, much less hide his busted ear. For the first time, Nick notices an old scar across John's forehead and the dark gray hair that's grown in at his temples. It's... jarring. All at once, Nick is looking at the man he'd sworn to destroy as if he'd only just now removed some kind of disguise. An older, more exhausted version of his sworn enemy is sitting right there, leaving Nick to wonder if cleaning him up was even such a good idea to begin with.

"Damn," Nick says as realization dawns on him, "There's no hiding who he is now, huh."

John's jaw clenches. Nick wonders if he'd been hedging his bets on being indistinguishable from any other survivor.

"We aren't _hiding_ him," Kim huffs.

This is news to Nick, who's been operating with as much secrecy as possible. They'd even stopped having Grace come pick up Carmina, going out to meet her instead. "Yeah, well, we aren't exactly banging pots and pans to draw attention to him, either," he points out.

" _You're_ the one who said he needed a haircut."

"And he did! Just... I didn't realize the difference it'd make, is all." Nick tries to catch John's attention, but he seems to be just fine blending into the surroundings while Nick and Kim argue about his stupid hair. "Anyone with a scope is gonna spot him half a mile away."

"People are going to find out about this eventually, Nick," Kim tells him. She goes so far as to rest a hand on John's shoulder to emphasize her point, saying, "We can't keep his survival a secret forever."

Nick frowns, but Kim's right. Eventually, they're going to have to make a case for letting John live. So far, it's been alright, but... well, is John really worth staking their reputations on? Even if he was, has he done enough to prove that Nick hadn't made a dumb, sympathetic mistake? And if not, is Nick going to have to step aside and let somebody else do what he should have done months ago?

"Well, we've got time to figure it out," Nick admits at last, mostly because he doesn't want to think about it right now. Since it feels weird having a conversation about John right in front of him without addressing him _at all_ , Nick offers him some direct commentary. "I guess you better just keep working on that good karma, huh?" he asks, aiming for smug but falling somewhat short.

"Yeah," John rasps. "I guess so."

The haircut does something for John's attitude, although it takes a few days before Nick notices. After a couple months of strange demureness, he begins to react to things like a goddamn human again. He can meet Nick's eyes now, although he struggles to hold the contact for more than a few seconds. When Nick or Kim tell him to do something, there's no more mute nodding. Instead, John will say, "Okay," or, "I understand." Sometimes, he'll even ask questions about the things they tell him to do, like where to move things or if he's doing something right. Once, after a few solid hours in too-bright-for-February sunlight, John asks Nick for a break, and it doesn't feel like selling out to let him sit down and have some lunch.

Of course, Nick never forgets that John is a manipulative user. He's got a way of seeming reasonable at first, going from pleasantries to stealing your land out from under you before anyone realizes he's dropped the kind and charitable act. Nick can't afford to forget that. There's nobody left in the world who could help him if John decides to toy with him this time around. Before the bombs, there had been laws and regulations and an entire justice system that he could get help from, but now? Now, if John decides he wants Nick's property more than he wants to make amends, all he's gotta do is take it.

Nick would like to believe that John isn't planning some sort of coup, that he's not just acting pitiable to drop their guard, but he's already taking so many risks with the guy. It's not safe to think John is playing along with Nick and Kim because he feels bad about what happened. That kind of low-ball expectation is exactly what caused Hope County to underestimate the Seeds before, and Nick isn't going to do that again.

* * *

John always seems tense whenever Carmina is around. She knows better than to directly address him, of course, since Kim and Nick have told her multiple times not to, but somehow she manages to work around the rules. She'll pretend he isn't around when she asks about his tattoos or scars or his newly revealed, mangled ear, and no amount of scolding manages to stop her. She asks for specifics about what he did to get in so much trouble, and why they're always watching him, and why he's not allowed to handle guns or knives or anything bigger than a hammerhead missing its handle. The healthier John looks, the more she asks about him, and now that he's got a haircut and clothes that hide most of his scars and tattoos, Carmina's fascination has started full force.

The only thing that keeps her from turning to John outright for her answers is his avoidance of her entirely. John goes out of his way to avoid looking at her, and if there's any distance to be gained between them, he's the one looking to gain it. Nick can't tell if he just isn't fond of kids, or if he has something personal against Carmina. The latter concept probably shouldn't irritate him so much, but — well, that's his daughter, man! He's obligated to be irritated when someone doesn't like her, even if that someone is his oldest enemy.

Thankfully, now that it's nicer out, Carmina has better things to do than sit around speculating on the guy living in the spare room. Nick takes her on an unsuccessful fishing trip, Kim takes her to visit Grace, and on days when nothing special is planned, she gets to run pretty much free, as long as she's within earshot.

One morning, as Kim and Carmina get ready to go meet up with Grace, Carmina asks, "Does dad _always_ have to watch John?"

Nick thinks she waited specifically until Nick had brought John downstairs to ask, which is a little too cunning for his liking. "I'm not _always_ watching him," Nick replies. "Sometimes it's your mom."

"We've told you," Kim chides gently. "John needs supervision."

John doesn't look up from his customary spot on the bottom stair, chewing through his breakfast. His shoulders are held tight, but otherwise, it's as if he can't even hear the conversation happening around him. Nick has to admit, he's impressed that John doesn't get more worked up when they talk about him like he's not there. It'd piss the hell out of Nick if he were in the other's shoes.

"We could take him with us," Carmina suggests. Since she's standing in front of her mom, she can't see the horrified expression that Kim directs Nick's way.

"Uh, I don't think that'd be a good idea," Nick says, which is usually what he says whenever he wants the conversation to end.

Apparently, that's not going to fly this time around, as Carmina pouts and asks, "But _why not_?"

Kim puts her hands gently on Carmina's shoulders, sighing and saying, "It's complicated, honey."

Well, great, they just used both of their canned responses to her back-to-back. Carmina is a good kid — patient, kind, tolerant — but she knows when she's being given the runaround and she won't put up with any of it.

"That's what you always say," she complains. "I want to know why! I'm complicated too, I can handle it!"

"Carmina, it's not that easy —"

"I don't care!" Carmina exclaims. Her frustration is about to boil over as she whirls to face John. "I'm talking to you, now!" she demands, downright offended that she has to declare it. Carmina hasn't worked herself up into a riot for a while now, but she certainly hasn't lost her touch. "You're supposed to be a bad guy, but all you do is hang around all day! Don't you want to go outside? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

Nick has definitely told John not to address Carmina, but this feels like extenuating circumstances. It was bound to happen — there's only so many times you can write off the prisoner in your house as a disagreeable weirdo before your daughter demands answers. He just isn't sure that there's anything John can say that won't raise more questions, each one harder to answer than the last.

John finally looks up from his breakfast to offer Carmina an unimpressed stare. "I have no interest in speaking to you," he tells her. His voice is downright chilly, with a tone best reserved for dismissing an incompetent secretary with an NDA. It's borderline offensive to have John talk to his little girl that way, but the ice freezes Carmina's escalating tantrum in its tracks.

"O-Oh," she says, deflating almost immediately. It's only going to dissuade her for a couple of days, tops, but by then they'll have figured something to say. Something that will paper over history that Nick can't afford to hide from her forever — eventually, they're going to have to tell her just how big John's role was in their suffering. But it's going to require nuance, and a better explanation than, _Daddy's just going with his gut, sweetie_.

"I'll try to explain," Kim tells her, turning her away from John's visible disinterest and facing her towards the door. "You just have to be patient. We're doing our best."

" _He's_ not," Carmina sulks. She pulls on her coat, offering Nick a gloomy, "Bye, dad," before Kim ushers her out of the house.

Nick turns to John as soon as they leave, ready to lecture him on how to talk to children, but John doesn't look remotely up for it. Just the one interaction has left him wiped, and there's a distant glaze to his eyes as he gets caught up in his own thoughts. He keeps getting trapped in his own head; it used to irritate Nick, but lately, it's just worrisome behavior that he's got to keep an eye on. Like Carmina having nightmares, or Kim taking out her stress on firewood.

"You sure know how to handle kids," Nick winds up saying, which isn't exactly the fight he'd wanted to start.

John closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you have something else for me to do today other than talk?" he sighs. He's trying for irritation, but he only manages to sound exhausted.

Nick can't help but think he's hit a nerve. Worse, he feels _bad_ about it. He tries to brush it off, asking, "Well, what do you wanna do — pull siding or chop firewood?"

"Does it _matter_ what I want?" John replies.

Damn, but John has perfected that cool dismissal, leaving Nick feeling chastised. "I guess not," he grouses.

Nick is definitely sulking as he sets John to removing some rotten siding. Thankfully, he has a whole bunch of wood to take his frustration out on. He's got John right in view, and he knows how to throw an ax and sometimes even hit things with one, so he should be fine. Anyway, John only ever has eyes for his work — Nick's not sure if escaping is really on his mind anymore. Sort of like feeding raccoons. You do it because you don't want them to go hungry, like any decent person, and the next thing you know they've stopped foraging and come by like clockwork every Wednesday night until the apocalypse.

Actually, maybe that's Stockholm syndrome? Nick isn't sure. He sure hopes not.

The day goes by as uneventfully as any other. It's not particularly hot out, but the sun is out and the birds are singing in true springtime fashion. It's actually a pretty nice day when all's said and done; Nick takes a minute or two after he finishes chopping wood to enjoy the blue sky and the tall, somewhat decimated trees swaying in the breeze. It's quiet all around, feeling like the edge of the world for a second or two before distant gunshots remind him that they aren't truly alone out here. He doubts it's anything to worry about, and he's sure that it has nothing to do with Kim and Carmina meeting Grace, but he still worries about it enough to chop down a few more logs.

Afterward, Nick definitely could use a break, sweaty and tired and a little hungry. John looks mostly done, too, having taken off nearly all of the section Nick had outlined for him. There's enough scrap to make plenty of shingles to finish the roof, even if it means leaving some of the house exposed. The nails will be useful, too, and Kim can probably figure out what to make with the unusable bits of wood.

"C'mon," he calls, shaking his canteen in John's direction, "Get some water. Then, you can start pulling any nails out of the boards that managed to survive. We can't afford to run out of those if we're gonna fix up the hangar."

John takes a gratefully large drink before he asks, "What's the point? You don't have a plane."

Nick rolls his eyes. Great, now he's got another petulant child asking dumb questions to deal with. "No, asshole, I don't. But I figure the house isn't really big enough for all the supplies we're gonna need. Wood, siding, sheet metal, not to mention the generator that's been sitting in the closet for longer than you've been here. There's that old chest freezer in there, maybe it'll still work." He waves towards the building, which is missing a good deal of its roof, _RYE & SON _ faded across the front. "I'm not just gonna leave it like that."

John doesn't have anything to say to that — if he does, he keeps it to himself. Which is good. Fine! Nick doesn't need, or _want_ , John to argue with him about the damn hangar.

Together, they drag long strips of old siding to the porch, where Nick has John sit while he gets to work on dinner, which is going to be classic, leftover-meat-and-potato stew. By the time Carmina and Kim get back, Nick will have everything taken care of and under control here. Kim will have probably figured out what to tell Carmina to keep her from putting too much trust in John, without telling her the gruesome, not-safe-for-children details. They'll sit down and talk about going fishing, and hopefully this time Nick won't ruin the stew with too much salt.

Carmina comes running towards the house a good hour before Nick expected her to be back. His heart immediately leaps into his throat as he imagines why she's alone, why she's towards him looking so upset. Thankfully, Kim is following right behind, which stops him from blocking Carmina as she bolts up the back porch and inside without a backward glance. The relief Nick feels at seeing Kim is short-lived as he realizes she isn't alone — Grace is standing there beside her, rifle in hand, staring across the backyard at John Seed sitting on the porch with a pile of nails at his feet.

"Ah, shit," is the first thing that Nick manages to say. He turns to John, with a fresh haircut and his sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos, and he knows there's no mistaking him for anybody else. Grace is going to take one look at him through her scope and pop his head clean off his shoulders. "Don't move, don't speak, don't do _anything_ ," Nick warns him. "Just... sit there, okay? Carmina's just upstairs. I don't want her to hear you get your brains blown out because you decided now was the time to bolt."

John doesn't respond, but he also doesn't move, frozen with a piece of wood clutched loosely in his hands. That should count for something. Nick turns back to Kim and Grace, who still haven't come any closer. Kim is talking to Grace, who may or may not be listening to whatever she's trying to say. All Nick knows is that Grace has him pinned dead to rights with an immeasurably pissed off glare.

He should be worrying less about John getting shot and more about Grace shooting _him_. Shit, should he go over to them and try to patch things up? That would be leaving John unattended. That would look bad for them, right?

Finally, Grace begins an approach. She's got her rifle clutched against her chest, her stony gaze sliding from Nick to John. Kim hovers behind her, anxiously giving Grace some distance as she tries to explain everything to Nick through frantic hand gestures alone.

Grace reaches the fire pit before she stops. She looks at the stew, bubbling in the pot, then to John, and finally to Nick.

"So it's true," she says.

"I know you're probably angry," Nick begins. From Grace's sharp glare, it's the _wrong_ way to start the conversation.

"Angry doesn't begin to describe how I feel right now, Nick," she replies flatly. Nick starts to suspect that she's only holding on to her gun to keep herself from wailing on him. "You're harboring a goddamn cult leader! You've been hiding _John Seed_ in your home for months — what the hell are you thinking? Have you two forgotten what this maniac did to all of us?" She points accusingly at his chest, "Did you forget what he did to _you_?"

"Of course I haven't!" Nick struggles not to raise his voice, trying desperately to maintain some kind of diplomacy with one of his oldest and closest friends. But he doesn't have any defense prepared for John, and he's not all that willing to defend him to begin with, so being backed into a corner isn't helping. "How could I? That's the reason he's here — he owes us!"

Kim jumps in to plead with Grace. "It's like I told you," she insists. "Nick gave him an ultimatum. He's been sticking by it."

Grace is overwhelmed enough that she spits in disgust. "You made a deal with a devil to mend fences and pull nails?" she asks. "You think _that's_ what he owes Hope County? Some _housework_? Is that really worth rekindling the god-damned cult?"

"Hey, there's none of that bullshit around here. John," Nick instructs, "Tell her."

"It's true," John rasps. He's pale and trembling, looking like he might faint. "Eden's Gate is dead."

"What makes you think I'd believe a word you'd say?" Grace snaps. "You're nothing but a murderous conman. Don't you dare speak to me."

"You don't need to believe him," Kim says, moving in to distract Grace's lethal glare from John. "You can believe _us._ The cult destroyed everything, and then it destroyed itself. All we're trying to do is put the pieces back together the best we can. For _everyone_."

"You can't possibly think this is a good idea," Grace says, a distinct accusation buried in her words. "He's lying to you. He's _using_ you two. And you're just going to _let_ him?" When neither of them immediately respond, she scoffs loudly. "Unbelievable. If Rook were here..."

"You know exactly what they would do," Kim says.

Grace taps an irritated beat against her rifle, scowling first at Kim, then at John. She's probably trying to stare him to death. Nick's just glad she isn't directing that lethal glare his way. "And what do you expect _me_ to do?" she asks.

Nick is sure that if Grace chooses to shoot John, he'll let it happen. He worries about the aftermath, about his relationship with Grace, about Carmina's wellbeing, about the kind of post-apocalyptic world they'd finally be living in, but he's sure that he won't try to stop her. Mostly sure. Pretty sure.

_Lord_ , Nick prays, _Please do not test me on this one today._

"I'm hoping you'll trust us to do what's right," Kim says, concluding what sounds like a defense she's been building since this whole mess started. Nick can only imagine what the walk back home must have been like.

For a moment, Grace doesn't move, her jaw clenching as she considers the stakes. Nick doesn't know what makes the decision for her, but finally, she eases up on her gun. "I must be an idiot," she mutters to herself, before addressing the two of them directly. "The minute he reveals his true colors, you tell me."

"Yeah," Nick says, surprised at how breathless he sounds. Had he been holding his breath? "Yeah, obviously."

"You're making me take a huge risk that I don't want to take," she informs them grimly, ignoring John as if her life depends on it. " _Don't_ make me regret it."

Grace storms away with such righteous anger that Nick almost doesn't catch the retreat for what it is. He can hardly believe that she's leaving, still tensed for the gunshot he'd thought was inevitable. As soon as Grace disappears from view, John lurches from his seat, sweaty face going gray. He barely manages to stagger to the corner of the house before he throws up, clutching the wall for support.

Nick will handle that in a minute. First, though, he turns to ask his wife, "What the hell happened?"

"God, Nick, it was a disaster," Kim sighs, looking pale and trembly herself. "Carmina was still upset when we met Grace, and she spilled everything. I tried to soften the blow, to, you know, explain, but Grace didn't believe any of it at first, and then Carmina was talking about him being in our _room_ all night..."

"Jesus." Nick rubs his eyes, then wraps his arms around Kim, feeling her melt into the hug. "I should've been there. I should've told Grace before Carmina could get the chance." He groans quietly, "Damn it, she's probably still freaking out up there."

"She was convinced Grace was going to kill him," Kim tells him. "She thought it was all her fault."

Nick sighs. "This was a big mistake. I should've taken him to Grace when I found him. Carmina doesn't deserve any of this."

Gently breaking away from the hug, Kim looks briefly towards John before gesturing towards the house. "I should go check on her. She needs to know everything is... well, stable. For now, anyway."

"Yeah, you do that. I'll, uh... I'll deal with this mess."

Nick watches Kim go inside, and then turns to watch the pathway Grace had disappeared down. He half expects to see her lurking in the bushes, but he knows Grace better than that. She would never let him see her coming if that were the case.

John sits down heavily against the side of the house, pale and wracked with uncontrollable tremors. It's not the reaction that Nick is used to — whenever he waved his gun around, John always seemed patiently resigned, waiting for the time when Nick would finally make good on his hollow threats. Grace hadn't even pointed her rifle at him, and he's losing his damned lunch.

Nick catches John muttering to himself as he approaches, but he doesn't hear the words, and John shuts up when he gets too close. He stands over John for a minute, but the move seems too aggressive when John looks up at him with saucer-wide eyes. Reluctantly, he crouches down, his knee popping in complaint.

"Well," Nick says, when John just stares at him, "Looks like you're still in one piece." When that doesn't get a reaction, he scrubs his beard and tries another approach. "I guess Carmina doesn't take the cold shoulder very well, huh?"

John takes a shaking breath. "She should have killed me," he rasps. "Why didn't she kill me?"

"Honestly, I've got no idea. I guess she probably didn't want Carmina to think it was her fault or something. I mean, she might've decided Kim and I know what we're doing, but..." Well, considering that _Nick_ isn't too sure what he's doing, he doubts that's the case. All Nick knows is that he's glad he doesn't have to clean John's brain matter out of the wood. "Well, either way, you're still here."

"I am," John agrees, soundly deeply unsure about it. He takes a breath, then another, although neither seems to calm him down much. "I'll get back to work, I just need... I need a minute."

Nick had completely forgotten about the siding. He'd forgotten about the food on the fire, too, although it's bound to be fine, it's _stew_. He finds himself wanting to give John the rest of the night off, to... who knows, process what happened? Give him a chance to get his head on straight, to figure out what he might say the next time someone comes waving a gun at him? Nick's not sure what John's free time would even entail. Nick really hasn't been giving him any.

"Stop looking at me like that," John rasps. "I'm fine. I can still work."

Nick's not sure how to change his expression, but he can at least try not to openly pity the guy. "Fine, whatever. Look — take a break for now. I'll tell you when you can get back to it."

John nods, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull thud. He closes his eyes almost immediately, like he might just pass out then and there, and Nick knows that he's got to be finished for the day. Since Nick is the one timing the break, John won't notice if Nick lets him rest, and if he wants to complain, he can go eat a boot.

The stew is ready inside of an hour, although Nick had planned to let it sit for a while to thicken. Kim comes downstairs at some point with her cheeks blotchy red from tears, but she gives Nick an immediate smile to let him know everything is alright. She looks John's direction, but the guy hasn't moved for the last thirty minutes, so he isn't much to look at.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" Nick asks her, unable to help himself.

"I want to think so," Kim replies, rubbing his back gently. "We'll see."

Kim calls Carmina down for dinner, but who knows how long it will take before she actually drags herself downstairs. It's been a pretty heavy day, so Nick doesn't blame her for wanting to hide for a little while longer.

He doesn't know if it would be better or worse to let John sleep through dinner, but the guy _did_ throw up half of his lunch, so he probably needs the food. Going to John's side, Nick almost kicks him awake, but that feels too aggressive after everything that's happened. Tomorrow, Nick can go back to being a dick to him. For now, he settles on nudging John's shoulder until he seems to come to.

"C'mon," Nick says, "It's time to eat."

Maybe John hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep. He looks around as though he's never seen the backyard before, not quite comprehending the hazy late-afternoon glow that showed up while he was out. "What happened?" he asks, visibly dreading the answer.

Nick can't help but roll his eyes. "You fell asleep," he says. "It's a real shocker. Told you, even a kid can do it."

John frowns. He looks towards the pile of siding, ready to calculate how much work he's missed, but Nick nudges him with his foot to distract him.

"I figure, if you sit here and don't move, maybe you can stay down here to eat. At least that way, Carmina will know you didn't get shot at on her account."

There's something in John's expression that implies he might want to argue the point, but he doesn't. He nods, remaining seated as Nick goes back to the fire. He doesn't move when Kim comes out of the house with four bowls and spoons, although he watches her like he's expecting a bomb to go off in her hand.

"Is he okay?" Kim asks Nick over the pot, keeping her voice low as she watches John out of the corner of her eye. "He's staying down here?"

"Bad idea?" Nick asks. "I can move him, I just figured..."

"No, it's okay." She pats his arm. "Good work with dinner."

Carmina comes downstairs with all the reluctance of a girl with a straight-D report card. She trudges down the porch steps with her head down, looking at her parents briefly through her hair before she swivels her unhappy gaze towards John.

"Hey, honey," Nick calls as she solemnly makes her way over to where John is sitting, trying in vain to reel her back. She ignores him, coming to a stop some five feet in front of John, well out of his reach by instinct alone. Nick can't see her face, but he can hear her teary voice.

"I'm sorry, John," she apologizes, her hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed like she might never look anyone in the eye again. Nick has to clamp down on the visceral reaction he has to his own daughter apologizing to _John Seed_ , but he manages to choke it down even if it risks souring his dinner.

For his part, John looks more ready to bolt now than he did when Grace had been actively threatening him. His heels dig into the dirt as he presses himself against the wall, eyes darting as he calculates an escape route. When neither Nick nor Kim attempt to pull Carmina away, he flings a wild glance their way, but there's no avoiding the little girl's apology.

"It's okay," he tells her, his throat almost dry enough to strangle the words. Carmina must not seem convinced, because he continues uneasily, "You didn't do anything wrong."

Thankfully, Carmina accepts the sentiment readily. Nick doesn't know if he could handle her insisting he take her apology. "Dad," she says, apparently satisfied enough to rise out of her morose mood, "Are we going fishing tomorrow still?"

"I don't see why not."

Nick's glad for the subject change. It's fun to tease Carmina, who keeps insisting she's good at fishing even though she's never caught anything, and it keeps her distracted from John. John doesn't seem to mind being left alone to eat. He seems miles away from the house and the conversation, distracted by the darkening path that Grace had disappeared down. He eats slowly, waiting for something to happen. Probably waiting for Grace to come back and finish what Nick started months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed this chapter, well boy howdy i have news for you: [there's art for it](https://foxtophat.tumblr.com/post/630008944256040960/kiichu-nick-catches-john-muttering-to-himself)! it was commissioned by my friend kiichu and drawn by lobanhart!  
> (if this link ever breaks leave a comment so i can fix it!!)


	7. Just a Little Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kim has big plans for the future of the Rye Family Farms -- or at least, she has small plans to keep her family fed on their own produce. Thankfully, she has everything she needs -- seeds, soil, sunlight, and John's uncanny strength to help prepare the planters.

Kim vividly remembers the day she met John Seed, just a few short years before the end of the world. He and his family had been in town all of a month when they had shown up unannounced to a potluck Kim and Nick were hosting, bringing along a last-minute macaroni dish. The three brothers were polite enough, and the big one seemed embarrassed by their offering compared to the other plates at the table, so Kim had let the party-crashing slide. Hell, she'd even let the strange brunette woman that accompanied them walk around her house like a second-rate psychic looking for ghosts. The rumor mill hadn't had time to chew much on them, so all Kim knew about the Seeds was that they were trying to put together a commune and the middle brother was some kind of preacher. It all sounded very tent-revivalist to her, but mostly harmless. Sure, they were weird, but they were hardly the only weirdos living in the county, so who was Kim to judge?

She had been standing alone by the cooler with a beer when John had sidled up to her. His reputation had already gotten a head start, having already stepped on Mary May's toes before showing his face to the town at large, and he was clearly attempting to avoid people who had already heard Mary May's take on the situation. Whether or not he realized Kim had already heard all about his unapologetic come-ons, he sure seemed interested in showing her his good side. He had been all smiles and charm, shaking her hand with both of his own and complimenting everything about the house and party and people. But, even as he coasted through the pleasantries and small-talk, John had eyed Kim like she was a piece of meat, one up for grabs by whoever flagged down the butcher first.

Just when he seemed ready to open his mouth and order himself a bad time, Nick had swooped in beside Kim with his hand extended, wearing his least genuine grin. Committing to another two-handed shake, John made more sweeping compliments and asked Nick a couple of questions about the airstrip. He may have even been genuinely interested in what Nick had to say on the matter, but in retrospect, all Kim can remember is the way he had looked at her. No longer was Kim a lifeless, prime cut of beef — now, she had teeth in the form of her redneck aviator husband, who wasn't buying anything John was selling.

Nick had smiled and waved at John as he excused himself, disappearing in the direction of his brothers. "What a fuckin' creep," Nick had declared through his clenched teeth.

Kim had thought then that they knew what kind of creep John was. By the time he began sending men to the house to intimidate them, she'd realized he was something much worse. He was something out of a schlocky psychological thriller, a sociopath with a rumored body count, who calculated each of his steps with pointed disregard for human life, gleefully buying up land for their cult and chasing all but the bravest away from their homes. There had been rumors about people disappearing, but Kim hadn't wanted to believe them. There had been a whole lot Kim hadn't wanted to believe. It was when John started calling, leaving desperate messages begging them to "just say yes, so I don't have to make you," that Kim had to stop hiding her head in the sand.

Kim barely had time to celebrate when he died the first time, what with Carmina being born and the world ending, and she had much better things to do in the years following than spare a thought towards him. It wasn't until Nick dragged John into their home eight years later that his name had even crossed Kim's mind.

She thinks about John a lot now, for better or worse. At first, all of her instincts had her thinking about him sleeping nearby. How much force it would take to break the bedroom locks. How strong and fast he might secretly still be. She would watch him work and think about all the awful things he would be putting Nick and her through, if their positions were reversed. She would question his every move, tired and sluggish as they might have been.

Nowadays, she mostly thinks about how tired he really seems. She thinks a lot about his eight years of solitude, and questions just how dedicated he really is to waving a white flag. The John Seed she used to know, the one she had underestimated a lifetime ago, he would never have willingly submitted himself to manual labor the way he does now. He would never sit silent and anxious until Nick or Kim bossed him around. At first, she had thought he was doing it out of necessity, being as sick as he was, but now... well, now, she's not so sure.

* * *

John is stronger than he has any right to be. Kim never had the opportunity to confront him physically before, so she has no idea if John has  _ always _ been like this, or if it's something that happened in isolation. After all, eight years by yourself is a great time to workout — at least until your supplies run out, or you catch a sickness that won't go away. It should probably worry her more, but Nick's confidence has rubbed off on Kim, and all she concerns herself with is giving him jobs that measure up to his abilities.

Like today, for example. Nick and Carmina have started on a project together, putting together a hen coop worthy of housing Carmina's first pets, and with planting season practically here, Kim is ready to tackle her own construction project. Somehow, a tractor wound up on the runway, overturned and mangled as if it had been in a car accident — or a nuclear blast — and Kim has a plan for the thing's large, mostly-intact tires. With enough mulch and soil, Kim's sure that she can make them into reliable planters, and she might even manage to grow something worth eating this year. First, though, they have to come off the tractor — and that's where John comes in.

Kim watches John peel one tire off of the crescent-shaped wheel it's clinging to, thinking to herself again that John is stronger than he should be. He rolls the massive tire back down the runway towards her, looking mildly winded from the exertion, face red from the sun. He doesn't look anything like the walking corpse Nick had found a few months back.

Despite herself, Kim is impressed with his progress. When Nick had first brought him in, she hadn't expected him to make it through the night, much less the following day. It had been hospice care to her, at least for the first week — but then John had turned a corner, eating again and managing to stand on his own feet, and all at once Kim had forgotten about reading his last rites.

Slowing the tire to a stop, John wipes his arm across his brow and asks, "Here?"

"Yeah," Kim says. "That's fine. One more to go."

John nods, turning and retreating down the runway towards the tractor's mangled remains. Kim watches him go, waiting for him to realize how easy it would be to get away. She's a great shot with the rifle, but she's only got the pistol with her today, and Nick is all the way on the other side of the hangar. There's no fence on this side of the strip, and the overgrowth is thick enough to disappear into. It would take him a matter of seconds to escape, if he would just  _ try. _

But he doesn't. Kim has no idea why not — it's not like they're making much of an effort to keep him locked up. Nick does his best, but they're not a maximum-security prison. Hell, they don't even have an enclosed fence! With all of his experience managing a human trafficking cult, he  _ has _ to see that they're woefully unprepared to hold him. There's no way he hasn't itemized every hole in their security and how he could use them to his advantage.

The tire has been partially popped off of the tractor wheel, but John's probably going to need a wrench or something to pry the rest of it free. Otherwise, Kim is going to be watching him strain uselessly, and while sometimes it can be gratifying to watch John struggle with menial tasks, Kim wants these planters done as soon as possible.

She marches toward him to size the problem up, only to pull up short as John tears the tire off of the wheel. Metal scrapes against itself as the axle twists, and Kim hears a pop when John finally leverages the tire free, leaving the wheel to hang limply from the axle. There's a long rip in the tire's lip, probably from where a security bolt tore through the old rubber.

"Jesus," she says, not realizing she's close enough for John to hear her until he frowns in her direction. She tries to mask for her concern over his uncanny strength, but all she has going for her these days is motherly frustration. "You could have hurt yourself," she scolds, as if that's going to cover it.

John huffs. "Why does  _ that _ matter?" he asks.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't exactly have a doctor to take you to if you slice your arm on rusted machinery and contract tetanus."

Considering how passive John's been, it comes as something of a surprise when he heaves a frustrated sigh, bracing the tire with both hands and doing his best to ignore Kim while she stands right next to him. It's just irritating enough that she sticks her foot out to block the tire, eyeballing him defiantly and mentally daring him to keep being a baby. Ugh, as if a man like him could be intimidated by a 40-year-old mom's unimpressed glare.

He ducks his eyes. "Alright, fine," he surrenders.

Kim lets him roll on, following with a furrowed brow as she tries to figure out what his deal is. The John she remembers would never put up with the kind of disrespect Kim shows him. He would be... seething, or something. Planning to murder her, probably. But if he was going to murder them, he would have done it already. He  _ definitely _ would have done it when Nick let him sleep in their room. But every opening he has, he ignores in favor of the full surrender he'd willingly placed himself under.

Once John sets the tire down, wiping his forehead clear of sweat, he asks, "What's next on your list of petty tortures?"

If John thinks being petulant will get him anywhere with Kim, he is sorely mistaken. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and asks, "Do you  _ really _ think this is me trying to torture you?" She can't help but be a little offended — as if she couldn't come up with something worse than household chores if she wanted.

"I don't know what to think," John sighs.

Kim can count the number of times John has been honest with her on one hand, and that's including before the bombs dropped. A few minutes ago, she might've entertained his mild back-talking to dig at his motivations, but she's certainly not in the mood now.

"You don't need to think," she says. "Just do what I tell you."

It's as easily said as done with John, who shuts up with a deep frown and follows Kim mutely for the next hour or two, helping her shovel a mixture of composted leaves and topsoil into a wheelbarrow. They have to make three trips to get enough to fill the tires, which is sweaty, smelly work that Kim won't leave to John alone. Even if she didn't want to get her hands dirty, she would feel guilty if she made him do it by himself, considering it's a job she could easily do alone.

Once they've finished dumping the dirt into the makeshift planters, Kim turns to John with a critical eye. At last, she offers him more than a few curt orders.

"This isn't supposed to be torture, you know," she tells him. "Everything we tell you to do, it's because it needs to be done, not because we want to watch you suffer."

"It must help," John grunts.

"Honestly? Not really." Kim sits on one tire, watching John shift his weight between his feet. He somehow seems small, even as he stands over her. "I've seen enough suffering to last a lifetime. Haven't you?"

John doesn't respond. He turns his head to stare at the hangar — probably wishing he was putting the coop together with Nick, who loves it when John is quietly repentant, and who hates talking about this kind of stuff in general. If Carmina weren't over there, John would definitely be trying to excuse himself to her husband's side.

"I think we're done here for now," Kim says at last. "I'm going to start dinner. You can sit quietly with me, or go help Carmina and Nick with the coop."

She refuses to pick for him, leaving him to look between the hangar and the fire-pit and debate on his own whether he wants to deal with Kim's weak interrogation skills or being in the same room as Carmina for any length of time. Any time she gives him a choice, he usually goes for whatever will keep him busier, but he seems actively repulsed by the idea of spending any time around Carmina.

After a few seconds of consideration, John nods reluctantly. "I'll sit," he says, almost as though he's admitting defeat. When Kim leads him over to the fire, he sits on the same patch of dirt he usually does, even with plenty of seating options. He doesn't talk much, and since Kim has nothing to ask him, she leaves him to his own thoughts while she starts getting dinner ready.

When she catches him starting to doze, she can't help but sarcastically quip, "Some torture, huh?"

John shoots her a dark look in return, but it's going to take more than a mean scowl to bother her.

* * *

Nick and Carmina get up early one morning to go fishing. Kim sleepily sees them out of the bedroom, unwilling to face the gray morning chill herself, and wishes them as much luck as she can muster while half-asleep. Nick hesitates a whole lot by the bedroom door, still reluctant to leave Kim alone with John, but he knows better than to make a bigger deal about it than she does. Kim appreciates his concern, even if nowadays she doesn't think it's warranted.

They'll be back a little after noon, and Kim's list of chores has finally shrunk to something manageable, so she lazes for just a little bit before finally committing to the day. It takes her a little longer to commit to utilizing John outside, since she doesn't have any work for him and it would be  _ great _ to have a morning to herself, but leaving him to stew all day feels wrong.

John's already awake when she goes to get him, dressed and sitting on the pallet-board bed that Nick let him piece together. He only looks mildly surprised to see Kim fetching him by herself, which means he probably heard Nick leave earlier. He isn't very talkative today, resorting to monosyllabic responses to her questions as they eat breakfast downstairs. He sits quietly at the table with Kim, not touching his food until he catches Kim staring expectantly at him. Kim shouldn't be surprised — after eight years on his own, he's probably more comfortable in silence. Either that, or he talked himself out of words down in that bunker of his. She would ask, but John avoids talking about his time underground at all costs, and she doesn't see today being any different.

Kim waits until they've gotten out into the yard to reveal her cigar box full of seed packets. "It's a little early to start planting," she explains, "But I have a good feeling about this batch of spinach."

John waits expectantly, his frown deepening as Kim fails to elaborate on his part in all of this. "You want my help," he realizes at last. "...With  _ gardening _ ."

He says it with so much disbelief that Kim almost thinks he's making fun of her. "What did you think we were going to do after we filled these things with soil?" she asks. "They needed to sit, and now we need to plant. You're here, so you're helping me."

"I —" John stares at her, biting the inside of his cheek as though he's trying to mind himself. "That isn't going to work. You'd be better off letting me dismantle the tractor for scrap."

"I'm not asking you to do that," Kim points out, "I'm asking you to poke some holes in the dirt. This isn't rocket science. Even Carmina can do it."

"Then have Carmina  _ do it _ ," John snaps, immediately clenching his jaw to try and prevent another outburst.

"If you're trying to give me trouble just because Nick isn't around, then I'll just put you back in your room."

John sulks for a few seconds, weighing his words now that he's out on thin ice. "Plants and I aren't compatible," he grudgingly admits. "I have a black thumb. And this is important work, I don't — I don't understand why you would risk it."

Kim tries hard to resist pulling on her kid gloves, and yet she still can't help but go easy on him. "John, it's an irradiated wasteland. You are the  _ least _ of these plants' concerns. All you have to do is follow instructions. You can do that, right?"

She expects him to roll his eyes or get huffy at her coddling him, even just a little, but he only nods in return. "Yes," he says, falling back into what can't  _ possibly _ be comfortable subservience.

Well, it works for Kim — he doesn't try to fight her as she shows him how to space out the holes, how deep to make them and how many seeds to put in each one. She watches him finish a row before she decides he's got it, and settles in across from him to start on the opposite side of the planter. John looks surprised that she's working with him, but she finds digging in the dirt relaxing, and she's got to pass the time somehow.

Kim enjoys gardening, getting her hands dirty while ensuring she and her family have plenty of food. She'd never really gotten the chance to practice before the bombs, but that didn't stop her from growing some sad looking carrots and potatoes last year. They plant spinach and beets, as well as some carrots that Kim doubts will survive. The other planter stays empty, but Kim has a plan to grow some soybeans later in the season, and if the seeds don't take, maybe corn will.

John is wholly focused on his side of the planter, meticulously careful, like this is some kind of exact science that he barely understands. A city boy through and through, Kim supposes — it isn't like a hotshot lawyer from Atlanta would spend much time at the local community garden, right? His history with gardening is probably littered with dead ferns and succulents that couldn't survive his negligence.

When he sits back to rest a minute, four straight rows like spokes in front of him, Kim throws him a bone. "Looking pretty good."

"Don't patronize me."

Kim rolls her eyes. Of  _ course _ John would be incapable of taking even the most mundane compliment, no matter how genuinely Kim might give it. "I'm not. You're doing a good job."

John sighs heavily, still very much not believing her, but he doesn't argue the point.

Nick and Carmina return just after John finishes his final row. Usually, Carmina comes back looking pretty defeated, as fishing isn't something she's gotten the hang of yet, and Nick will try not to let on that he did poorly on purpose to make her feel better. Today, though, Carmina marches with a straight back and a big grin, and Nick follows her with a bucket of smallmouth bass.

"Who wants fish?" Nick calls triumphantly, visibly excited for Carmina to finally have a "big catch" story.

Kim stands, knocking the dirt off of her knees, and takes a look at the radial design left behind in the soil. She's going to have to water and keep a close eye on these little suckers, but with any luck, they'll grow at least enough to make for good compost. It would be nice to have some impressive produce to trade, though, so here's hoping that spinach turns out.

"Hard part's over," Kim tells John, who reluctantly follows her lead and climbs to his feet. "Now, it's a waiting game."

"I wouldn't expect miracles," John mutters. Kim pretends not to hear him.

* * *

John avoids the garden as much as he can once the planting is done. Kim doesn't need his help, so she doesn't press it, but she notices whenever he surreptitiously checks the progress the seeds are making. He seems happy enough to be done handling them, but Kim bets he's still keeping an eye out for any evidence of failure. Kim doesn't want to take away Nick's extra pair of hands, especially considering how hard work seems to comfort John more than long stretches of silence surrounded by dirt, so for the first two weeks, Kim handles most of the gardening herself.

Nick and him have been steadily chipping away at Nick's list of home repairs, their DIY solutions changing the topography of the family home bit by bit. The roof is dotted with white shingles cobbled together from old siding, the windows have been boarded up with full sheets of plywood instead of haphazard wooden planks, and part of the hangar's exposed roof has been covered by a quilt of stitched together pieces of tarp. They've even managed to clear back some of the vines that have been swallowing every structure in the valley. Nick has pretty much given up on letting John do everything by himself by now, although he definitely delegates the harder work to John and takes the first drink of water whenever they take a break. Nick has always been a hands-on kind of guy, though — sitting by while there's work to be done goes against his nature. It had only been a matter of time before he demanded to pull his own weight.

Kim checks the plants more frequently and obviously than John does. She had been expecting most of the plants to fail, considering the packets they came from are easily eight years old and thrown into an old box with no thought to preserving them, but a week in and they seem to have taken pretty well. Tiny, two-leaf sprouts have started to poke their way through the soil where the spinach was planted. The beets don't seem to have done quite as well, but surviving tiny sprouts have also started to show. Kim doesn't trust the carrots, but it'll be another week or so before they start seeing any results from them, so she withholds judgment for now.

"Been thinking about going into town," Nick mentions one night as the four of them eat dinner at the table. John still seems uneasy sitting with them instead of on the stairs or in his room, but at least he doesn't need someone to goad him into eating.

Carmina's face lights up. "Can I come?" she asks, practically before Nick has finished speaking. From the way Nick smiles at her, Kim's sure he was about to suggest that very thing, which makes it easy for Kim to agree.

"Sure," she says. "As long as your dad promises not to cut across the field this time. No," she scolds Nick as he opens his mouth to argue, "There's a herd of bison out there that are as big as the car, and you are  _ not _ a matador, Nick."

"What's the point of an apocalypse if I gotta follow all the roads?" Nick complains, relenting with a theatrical sigh. "You're right," he admits, emphasizing for Carmina, "Your mom's right. The roads are a lot safer than any open field."

Kim glances at John, who has his head down over his plate, looking uncomfortable with the conversation circling so close to him. Nick follows her line of sight, frowns, and then asks, "So, uh, John... You got any interest in going into town?"

John swallows the bite he just took, wincing as it goes down wrong. "No," he croaks.

"Okay," Nick says, not at all upset to hear it. "That leaves just you and me, sweetheart."

Later on, once they're getting ready for bed, Nick can't help but circle back, horrified by his own gall. "What would I have done if he'd said yes?" he asks Kim. "He'd incite a riot just by showing his face. The second everybody knows he's alive..."

"It's going to happen eventually," Kim says. "I think we should at least let him make the choice about  _ when _ ."

Nick accepts her reasoning with a petulant, "I  _ guess, _ " but he spends another hour or two silently turning it over in his head.

They don't leave until after breakfast, which Nick lets John be part of. He's still sensitive about sharing his family time with anybody, much less John, but he's getting used to it bit by bit. Kim would blame it on the apocalypse if it weren't for the fact that he's always been very protective of his mornings.

John looks uneasy as Nick and Carmina head out, tensing at the sound of the car starting. Kim isn't all that used to it either, but at least they managed to find a car and enough gas to make the occasional trip to town possible.

Well, since there's nobody else around, and nothing left for Kim to do, she decides it time to bring John back to the garden.

"Ready to learn how to weed?" she asks.

To his credit, John waits until they're outside and facing down the lightly weeding planter to argue. "There's still a lot of work to do in the hangar," he says. "Doesn't that sound like a better use for me?"

"No," she replies. "You need to know how to do this." She sighs when he remains standing, staring up at him unimpressed. "Either you help me with this, or you can go pout in your room about it."

Kim waits until John reluctantly sits on his knees to join him. She walks him through the process of prying up the thin, quickly growing stems, tossing them into the bucket between them, and shows him how to pull out the root systems that might get left behind. Most of the weeds that are growing are small, but those pernicious vines have been reportedly growing like crazy in any and all soil and Kim doesn't want to give them a chance to cozy up to her produce.

It's not complicated work, so John picks it up fast, but he goes tediously slow, almost to the point where Kim thinks he's messing with her. Well, the joke's on him — Kim has raised one of the most independent children in the state, and she knows how to deal with petulance. She's fine with long stretches of silence, she's fine with dirt, and she's fine with leaving people to stew.

"Have you always been a gardener?" John asks after a length time, rushing the words as if he'd been chewing them over for too long and he just wants them out of his mouth.

John rarely ever asks questions that aren't about his so-called punishment, so Kim is inclined to indulge him. "No, not really," she answers. "My mom grew flowers, and I would try to keep those little starter herb kits alive every so often, but I never really dedicated my time to it." She hesitates, hopefully not noticeably, and adds, "We had some old gardening magazines in a box in the bunker. They turned out to be a good way to pass the time. You know?"

John hums neutrally in response. Kim hadn't expected much better; even casual talk about life underground shuts John up pretty fast. It's such an obvious psychological scar that even Nick can't miss it, and although the two of them will speculate, neither of them have so far pushed hard enough to find out more. Kim doesn't know if John's trauma is the Pandora's box she wants to open, but she has so many questions and so many worries that could be put to rest if she could just figure out how to interrogate him about it.

She's being too obvious, staring at him like she is, and John is quick to catch her. His brow furrows as he stares back expectantly. Probably waiting for her to drag the information she wants out of him, no doubt, the same way he would rip confessions out of people.

When she fails to do whatever it is he's waiting for, he turns his attention back to the remaining weeds. Frustration colors his voice when he eventually speaks.

"I wish you wouldn't stare at me."

"I usually look at people who ask me questions," Kim replies, trying not to be pedantic and failing pretty miserably.

"Just tell me what you want from me."

Kim sits back on her heels, wiping her forehead with a dirty hand. "I don't really know," she admits. She probably shouldn't be so honest with him, so open about her lack of motivation, but she can't see any reason to lie. Maybe telling him the truth will encourage him to do the same? She knows that's wishful thinking, but it's worth a try.

"I guess I want you to... prove you're trying. That this isn't all some kind of act. But honestly, I don't know what kind of proof would convince me. There's eight years of blank history that might help, but you don't want to talk about it."

She doesn't hesitate to bring up the bunker this time, even when it makes him squirm. She can see him working on a response and heads it off as best she can.

"Look," she says, "You don't have to tell me now. You don't even have to tell  _ me _ . But eventually, if you're really serious about making amends, you're going to have to tell  _ someone _ ."

For a moment, John rests his fingers in the dirt as if he might just go back to his work. He's staring at the green leaves, waiting for one of the plants to give him the right answer, the one that will make the conversation end before he has to get involved.

Finally, terribly lost and frustrated at himself for winding up that way, he asks, "Why won't you just  _ make me _ ?"

His uncertainty settles in Kim's stomach like a lead weight. He refuses to look at her, and somehow that makes it worse. She knows Nick would probably scold her for being overly sympathetic, but she can't help it. She can't hide her worry when she answers, no matter how much it might chafe John to hear it.

"You have to want to get better to do it," she tells him. "Nobody can do it for you."

John doesn't respond. Kim doesn't hold her breath over it, returning to the remaining weeds. But as his silence grows, Kim finds herself checking on him in her periphery. Before the Collapse, John had been easy to read, his reactions unrestrained and sometimes bordering theatrical. These days, Kim can't pin him down.

John treats the fresh sprouts as though they're too fragile to touch, sincerely confused at the progress the garden has made despite his interference. Had he really thought that he could mess them up just by planting them? No wonder he was so sure that she was making a mistake, enlisting his help.

"Things are going well, given the circumstances," she says at last. "I guess you don't have a black thumb after all."

"I stand corrected," he replies. He looks at her briefly, but when he catches her watching him he's quick to look back to the dirt. Kim doesn't miss the way he continues to appreciate the small green stalks.

Later, after the weeds have been eradicated and dinner has been started, Kim hears the car coming down the drive. John is in the middle of dragging scrap metal out of the hangar, so he doesn't notice it right away, but there's no missing Carmina and Nick's raised voices. They aren't quiet by any means as they wander from the front yard to the back, talking enthusiastically about the monstrous bison they'd seen in the field on their way home. When John recognizes them coming into view, he stops working briefly, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the hastily setting sun.

"That's, uh, a pretty wide leash you're giving him," Nick says to Kim, having the good sense to at least kiss his wife hello before he starts in on judging her.

"He knows what you guys are doing in there better than I do," she replies. "How was town?"

Carmina is the one to answer, her excitement hard to contain. "We saw the bison!" she exclaims. "Pastor Jerome let me go to the top of the church tower! We got a bunch of stuff!"

She has a whole lot more to tell Kim, which she does in rapid-fire bullet-points before running off to unload supplies from the car. From all of her talk of apples, Kim hopes that some of them made their way home.

Nick waits until she's out of sight, checking to see that John hasn't yet come to join them, and then offers Kim a helpless shrug. "So, Jerome knows about John, I guess."

The comment shouldn't make Kim as uneasy as it does. "Oh?"

"Grace told him." Nick takes off his hat, tossing it onto the porch and running a hand through his hair. "He said he had to think about it more. But, uh... that he trusts us to do what's right. I dunno, he didn't quote any scripture at me so I couldn't tell how mad he really was."

He's watching John at the front of the hangar like he's surprised John isn't running. "I really thought this was gonna go differently," he says after a beat. "I thought for sure he'd have given us a reason to off him by now."

Kim chuckles. "Yeah, the same way you thought feeding the raccoons would make them go away."

"I couldn't help it," Nick sighs. "They looked so damn hungry."

John finishes unloading the wheelbarrow's contents. For a moment, he stands with his back to them, staring at the hangar. When he turns around, he straightens up, waiting. For what, Kim couldn't possibly say. She wishes he would just tell them what he thinks they ought to do already, but that's not going to happen any time soon.

Nick cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, "C'mon, I got a bunch of supplies you need to unload!"

John puts his hands on his hips, taking a brief rest before starting in their direction. Kim wouldn't believe he's the same man from a few months ago if she hadn't seen the transformation herself. She hopes all this change has been for the better, but she wonders if it's going to be enough.


	8. Where Loyalty Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmina accepts the most unacceptable of handouts, and John makes a beeline for the exit.

Nick and John have spent the last day and a half repairing the fence that once enclosed the whole Rye property. Nick wouldn't bother if it weren't for the return of wildlife after the long winter, but they need to do something to prevent dogs from getting into the yard, and just this week Kim caught a deer trying to get at the planters. The last thing they need is to go another round with mother nature after they just reclaimed their place in her.

It's one of those days where the weather can't make up its mind, alternating between sunshine and shadow as massive clouds roll across the blue sky overhead. It doesn't quite look like rain, but they should be expecting it any day now.

Nick takes a swig from his canteen, waiting on Kim to bring him the box of nails from the hangar. He leans against a newly restored stretch of fencing, which doesn't collapse under his weight.

"Guess we're doing something right," he says to John, who's more interested in finishing the job than talking about it.

Still, he replies, "Don't jinx it." He even gives Nick a distrusting look, as though  _ he's _ the liability around here.

"It's my fence, I'll jinx whatever I damn well want."

John scoffs. "I have enough bad luck without you making it worse."

"Oh yeah, real bad luck you've got here."

Kim finally returns with the box of nails, which admittedly had been left in a pile with a bunch of other components for later sorting. As she hands them over, she looks around the yard for Carmina.

"I think she's taking a nap," Nick reassures her.

"She's going to be up all night if she is," Kim replies, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe it's time she learns how to mend a fence. She'll probably enjoy it more than doing times-tables all afternoon."

"We still got a ways to go," Nick says. "All four of us might be able to get it done quicker."

With that settled, Kim turns towards the house. "Carmina!" she hollers. She waits a few beats for a response, then sighs wearily. "Alright, I'll be right back."

Nick shrugs away his first inkling of concern as he watches her go. John doesn't seem to care one way or another, ignoring Kim as she heads inside. It's taken a while, but he's finally mastered reattaching the cross-posts, and now he can throw himself into it as mindlessly as digging dirt or hauling trash. Nick used to think  _ he _ was bad about burying himself in work, but  _ jeeze _ . Watching John tune out the rest of the world while he works is fascinating, if only in the same way watching  _ Hoarders _ or  _ My 600 Pound Life _ had been. The only difference here is that there's no talking head to tell Nick just what John is trying to distract himself from.

"Nick!" Kim shouts, somewhere on the other side of the house. It isn't a scream or cry for help, but there is a deep and worrying concern underlying her voice.

Panic that Nick hadn't realized he had leaps into his throat, a thousand hideous possibilities flying through his mind as he springs to his feet. He forgets all about John, who follows behind him with his hammer still in hand. His mind is too busy coming up with dozens of feral dogs for him to fight off, if not maniacs with guns, or one of those god-awful  _ bears _ ! He doesn't have time to consider whether or not he's dropped too much of his guard around John when Carmina is being kidnapped by raiders!

Nick turns the corner and sees Kim dragging Carmina across the front yard by her bicep. There's no blood, no screaming, not even a dead wolf in the yard to reveal to Nick the problem. For that, he has to look further, down the dilapidated front drive, where a group of people stands bunched together. They're far enough back that Nick can't see their faces, but the way they mill around worryingly reminds Nick of a pack of angels.

Two people are retreating from the house. Nick only catches their backs, but that's all he needs. It's impossible, after all, to miss the massive, faded black Eden's Gate brand, and while Nick can't read the words carved into the flesh around it, he recognizes them immediately.

Of course Joseph Seed is still wandering around shirtless, even a decade after the apocalypse. He's flanked by some beefy, hoodie-wearing jackass, returning to his flock who are spreading out to eagerly accept him back into the fold, without so much as a backward glance at the house or the people in it. He doesn't even seem to care that he's left his back wide open to them. Like he knows they aren't going to do anything about it.

Nick should shoot him. No, wait, Kim has the rifle, so  _ she _ should shoot him. Somebody should shoot him!

But they don't. Kim drags Carmina inside while Nick stares helplessly after the retreating cultists, who swallow Joseph's form up in their group before disappearing down the drive the way they came. They're almost out of eyesight before Nick realizes that John's supposed to be standing next to him, but isn't.

He looks around wildly for a second, trying to catch John mid-escape, but the guy has vanished. There's no sign of him rejoining the group leaving their property, but Nick hasn't been paying attention, and John knows the area better now; he could easily be making a loop somewhere out of Nick's sight.

Swearing under his breath, Nick hovers in the doorway, keeping his eyes peeled for the missing Seed even as he desperately wants to check on Carmina. Thankfully, Kim has their daughter cornered by the stairs, so she isn't going anywhere.

Although the initial adrenaline seems to have worn off now that Carmina is safe and Joseph has left, Kim's still jittery and tense, trying and failing to hide it from their increasingly confused daughter.

"What did he do?" she asks Carmina, "Did he hurt you?"

"Who?" Carmina scoffs, "The bearded man? He was just... giving me some food. What's the matter?"

"If he  _ ever _ shows up here again," Nick snaps, "You come straight to your mom and me, you understand?"

" _ You _ said to find food wherever we can!"

"Yeah, well, we don't take  _ anything _ from him. Not even food!"

Carmina squints so hard that her lips purse. " _ Why _ ?"

Nick throws up his hands. He has no idea how he's supposed to explain Joseph to his daughter. He doesn't know how to warn her about bliss-tainted food, or the cult's violence, or all their fucked up brainwashing. He doesn't know how he's supposed to convince her not to go near that maniac when they've been keeping one of his brothers fed and sheltered for half a year!

Kim, lifesaver that she is, takes the burden of explanation onto her shoulders. She turns to Nick, looking to either side before asking him, "Where's John?"

Nick hisses through his teeth in response, unwilling to admit he lost sight of the guy pretty much the second danger presented itself. He should have known better. He shouldn't have let his guard down. If he'd known the problem was going to be Joseph, he would have been more careful!

"Go find him," Kim says. "I'll — let me handle this."

As much as Nick doesn't want to leave the burden to Kim alone, she's right. They can't lose sight of the bigger picture here — and that picture involves Joseph's youngest, most irrational brother, who's probably running through the brush right now to reunite with his stupid, psychopathic family.

Still, before he goes, he points at Carmina and demands, "The next time you see him, you run the other way."

"Go, Nick," Kim tells him, and so he reluctantly does.

Although  _ logically _ , Nick should be making a beeline for Joseph's last known location, since that's undoubtedly where John has fled, his gut keeps him close to home. Instead of sneaking through the brush to confirm his suspicions, Nick turns to investigate the rest of the property first. He knows he's being naive, and a real idiot, but he needs to make sure John hasn't gone off to find a weapon or alternate escape route. More importantly, he has to prove to himself that John really did flee at the first sign of rescue.

There's no sign of John anywhere in the backyard, leaving the space weirdly empty. After so many months with another person living in their space, there's something strangely lonely about the concept of going back to living on their own. John is a creep, sure, but he had still been better than being on their own. And besides, he'd been getting better as of late — not exactly quality companionship, but at least he's been a little less of a dick and holding conversations for a full two or three sentences longer than usual. Just the other night, he'd managed to eat dinner  _ and _ say two full words without turning into a morose teenager desperate to go back to his room.

Something crashes inside of the hangar, breaking Nick out of his thoughts. Of course, one paranoia is replaced by another, and Nick approaches the open service door ready for an attack. After all, there aren't a lot of reasons for John to stick around that don't involve beating Nick to death with a length of irrigation pipe.

The hangar is dark and silent. Nick stands in the doorway for a full ten seconds, waiting for some kind of response from the gloom, another noise, John calling out the all-clear... but nothing. He almost calls out, catching himself at the last second and biting his tongue. Since they've organized most everything in here by now, there aren't a lot of places for an ambush, but Nick steps slowly nonetheless, leaning around heaps of scrap metal and carefully edging around wobbly shelves holding boxes of materials. Every time he braces himself for a blow, he winds up wincing at nothing for seconds at a time.

Nick eventually finds John hiding behind the counter in the back of the hangar, pinned down against the wall. Crouched down with his head against his knees and his hands over his neck, he looks braced for another nuclear blast. His teeth audibly grind as Nick steps behind the counter, but if he's got anything to say, he keeps it to himself.

"John?" Nick asks. He's still braced for a fight, but John seems miles away.

He tries again. "John. Hey,  _ John _ ."

" _ Yeah _ ," John hisses through his teeth, hunkered down for the apocalypse, "I hear you."

Neither of them move. Nick, getting increasingly uncomfortable under the tension, leans into his outrage to keep him from stalling out into a panic right alongside John. "What the hell was that?" he exclaims, throwing a hand up. "That psycho brother of yours was supposed to be  _ dead _ — what, did you  _ all _ have goddamn contingency plans in case the rest of you fucked up?"

"No," John mutters.

"And  _ you said _ that goddamn cult shit was over with! Well, I just saw a dozen Peggies lurking around my property with that maniac. What do you have to say about  _ that _ ? Doesn't seem very dead to me! He's coming around here, trying to pass handouts around, smug sonofabitch —"

John, bracing his feet against the ground, breaks past Nick's whirling anxiety. "Did he see me?" he asks.

"What?" Nick replies, abruptly forgetting about his rant. "I mean... No, I don't think so." He waits a beat for John to relax, to respond, continuing awkwardly when he doesn't. "He didn't look back, I mean."

John exhales, although it does nothing to ease his tension. "Okay," he says, repeating distantly, "Okay."

Nick had been so sure that John was going to try to escape, storming across the yard just a minute ago. But now, looking at the guy now, he's not sure John can even stand up, much less make a break for it. He realizes that despite all his reservations before, he doesn't think John is going anywhere. Not right now, anyway. Whether he wants to be or not, he's stuck here for the foreseeable future.

"You really didn't know, huh?" Nick asks. He lays on the pity thick enough that even he feels like he's being a dick about it, but all he gets is a nonverbal grunt in return. "Well, don't get any ideas," he continues, each word feeling like a step further into uncharted waters. "Just because we've been lax around here doesn't mean you're not still watched twenty-four-seven, you know! I hear you pacing around at night, so I'll know if you try to, uh..."

Nick really doesn't want to keep yelling at the back of John's head. He doesn't really mean to yell at all, letting his motor mouth run for him until he realizes abruptly that nothing he's saying is having an effect.

"John," Nick says again. He wishes he didn't sound as anxious as he does.

" _ Yes _ ," John rasps, "I  _ hear you _ ."

Nick falls back against the counter, resting his weight against it as he watches John's tense form. "You don't even want to look at him?" he asks when the silence gets too uncomfortable.

"No," John mutters.

The next stretch of silence is broken as Kim enters the hangar. Nick wheels around, thankfully able to direct his energy towards someone who will respond to him for once.

"What happened?" he asks her, "Is Carmina alright?"

Kim makes a middling gesture with her hand, coming to a stop at the counter across from Nick. "I tried my best," she says. "I explained that he was the one who — well, that a lot of what happened before was because of him. She's going to need some time to process it, though. It's a lot to think about."

"What's there to think about?" Nick asks incredulously. "It's simple: they're whack-job cultists, and we're  _ not _ . This is an anti-Peggy household! She isn't going to accept  _ any _ handouts from Joseph Seed!"

Kim ignores Nick, turning her uncertain frown in John's direction. Honestly, though, Nick is just fine with that, considering that  _ he _ isn't going to be any help with John's mental spiral.

She chews on her lip as she tries to figure out the best thing to say. "You're going to have to talk to us," she tells him at last. It's not exactly an ultimatum, but there's not a lot of room for arguing.

"I didn't know," John says after the silence stretches out between the three of them. It would be more convincing if he would make some eye-contact, but Nick finds himself believing it anyway. Especially as John miserably continues, "I thought he was dead."

"If there's anything you know that could help us figure out what he's doing here, now would be a great time to tell us," Kim points out, gentler than maybe she even intended. "What's his plan? What is he going to do next?"

John swallows heavily. Nick wonders if he has any loyalty left to his brother, if he has to struggle between revealing information or continuing to live with them the way he has been. Maybe he's just too panicked to think of anything beyond how to get out of this immediate situation. Again, eye contact would really help here, but Nick's not banking on that happening.

"It was so long ago," John mutters finally. "He wanted to start over. Jacob was meant to — to lock the armory. No one was going to need it after the Collapse. He and the faithful would establish New Eden together — without sin, without the unfaithful, and..." He lifts his shoulders, the first move he's made since Nick's found him. "No matter what, they would get it right this time."

"Last thing I heard before everything went nutty, the deputy trashed Jacob's armory," Nick says.

John huffs. At last, he uncurls from his doomsday position, slumping back into the cabinet behind him. "That  _ does _ sound like them," he says, oddly relieved.

"He gave Carmina food," Kim says. "Should I be worried? It could be contaminated, right?"

"What kind of food?" he asks.

"Bread, I think? Crackers? I don't know exactly."

John shakes his head, scrubbing his eyes briefly. "It wouldn't be Bliss. The heat would kill it."

Kim sighs with relief. "Okay. I'll take your word for it."

Nick almost asks if that's such a good idea, but John doesn't look like he can take another kick lying down right now. "So what are we supposed to do?" he asks instead. "Just let him go rebuild his bullshit back on the island? Reform the cult and retake all the land that we thought he lost when the bombs dropped? Trust him not to have another psychotic breakdown and envision a good reason to get violent again?"

"I don't know," John sighs. He's so pale and tired, as though his panic attack had burned through all of his energy. He works his jaw over some thought or another. At last, he admits to them, "You should shoot him, although I doubt he will ever get close enough again."

Kim blinks, nails scratching the counter-top as she curls her hands defensively. "Are you serious?" she asks.

John takes a deep breath. "Yes," he says. "I am."

"Okay, well, it's something to keep in mind," Kim says, slowly feeling out her own opinion on the matter. "But I don't think that murdering him is going to be the answer. Maybe it was back then, but now... I mean, things change."

"He won't change," John tells her. "He won't."

"That's what everyone thinks about you," Nick points out. He doesn't realize it's a low blow until John bows his head again, leaving him to flounder. "I just mean, you know..."

"I know what you mean," John replies. Nick isn't appreciative of the icy tone, but at least it's put an end to him eating his own foot.

"Right now, we need to keep calm," Kim tells them, disappointedly eying Nick. "I'm going to get on the radio and let Grace know what happened. I'll trust her to tell the right people, so the whole county doesn't turn into a witch-hunt. The last thing we need is for another war to break out and destroy all the progress everyone's made."

"Right. Okay." Nick scuffs his shoe on the dirty concrete. "John, uh. We can keep working on the fence. Unless you... need a break. You can stay here, if you want."

He feels like an ass offering it, but John doesn't let it hang for long. "No," he shakes his head, lifting it again, "I can work."

Nick doesn't think "can" and "should" are the same here, but who is he to judge? All he wants to do right now is focus on something he can get done, rather than sit around speculating. John is probably even more eager to bury himself back into his work, now that he has something he really needs to be distracted from.

Kim doesn't wait for them, taking off for the house at a brisk walk. Nick waits for John to stand, then follows him out of the hangar, setting him to work on the part they'd been working on before. He starts to help, but John seems to have it and he seems to be more interested in spiraling mentally, so Nick sets up a few yards down to work in silence. The entire time, he watches as John goes through the motions, a million miles away as he stops to occasionally stare at the trees not so far away. Nick doesn't know what he's looking for, but even though he wants to ask, he can't bring himself to risk detonating whatever emotional time-bomb is building.

* * *

Nick wakes up that night not knowing what roused him. Sleeping for more than a few hours at a time is a miracle most nights, interspersed by long stretches of watching the passage of time from the shadows on the wall. Tonight is no different, and Nick blearily watches the deep, dark blue shadows that fill the room during the deepest hours of the night. He almost doesn't realize that Kim is awake, not until she reaches out to gently shake his shoulder once again.

"What," he groggily whispers, "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," Kim whispers back. "I thought I heard something."

The only thing Nick can hear is the house creaking all around them. He catches a thud from the other room, which usually means John is up and pacing around. It's much more apparent that isn't the case when the second bedroom door slams open, rattling the wall, followed by running footsteps down the hall.

Carmina groans, half-awake as Nick throws off the blankets, leaping out of bed and yanking on his jeans. "Son of a  _ bitch _ ," he hisses, "That goddamn liar — no, stay here." He waves a hand at Carmina, who groggily waves a hand back, and tells Kim, "Somebody has to keep an eye on her. I'll handle this."

"Nick..."

He doesn't have time to argue about it, so he just bolts from the room and hopes Kim won't follow. He doesn't bother to check the damage to the door, which is hanging wide open against the wall; instead, he chases John's footsteps down the stairs, thundering down them and coming to a brief halt in the living room as he guesses where John has gone next.

The front door is wide open, leaving Nick staring out into the misty dark by himself. It's just thick enough that Nick can't see past the car parked protectively in front of the house, and  _ boy _ does he not want to go out there. He's exhausted, and the last thing he wants to do is go running around in the mist like it's 2018 all over again.

But he has to, because he can't let John get away. To think he believed that rotten, lying asshole! Of course, the  _ second _ Nick lets his guard down, the  _ second _ he decides to believe that John isn't frothing at the mouth to return to his old life, of  _ course _ that bastard has to go and shove it in his face! He hadn't been able to hold up the act for one  _ night _ after Joseph reared his goddamn head? What a joke.

It's a wet, cool night, and the mist is thick enough that Nick can't immediately see John as he jogs down the drive, but it doesn't take him long to catch up. John's escape plan seems to come to an abrupt end halfway down the lane as he comes to an unsteady stop on the cracked dirt. Nick picks up the pace, angry enough to jog barefoot after the bastard trying to escape. At this distance, Nick could probably shoot him — that is, if he'd bothered to bring either of the guns with him. If Joseph appears and has his lackeys attack him, he's going to be shit out of luck.

Nick gets within a yard of John and finds himself pulling up short. "What the hell, John!" he exclaims, too tired to notice his voice cracking and far too exhausted to care that he's given up his only chance at a surprise attack. "Are you kidding me with this bullshit, you lying, no-good —"

John whirls around, fist balled up and pulled back like he's actually going to strike at Nick. His face is blotchy and wet, his eyes heavily rimmed with red. "Get the  _ fuck _ away from me!" he shouts, voice welled with panic, and Nick takes an immediate obliging step backwards. He's run right out into no-man's land without any defenses and he does  _ not _ want to get caught up in the messy storm of John's emotions if he can help it. He  _ especially _ doesn't want to get punched in the face for his effort.

As soon as he moves, John drops his fist, run ragged by the burst of adrenaline that got him this far out of the house. He breathes like he's just run twenty miles. His eyes drop to Nick's hands, to his hip where he usually holsters the pistol, up to where the rifle should be strapped to his chest, and then finally he directs his wild eyes to Nick's face.

"What are you doing," he gasps.

"What am  _ I _ doing," Nick shouts, "What the hell are  _ you _ doing! You can't just break down the door and go running for your brother whenever you have a — a nightmare, or whatever!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," John hisses.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about! As soon as you find out he's alive, you go running after him! I'm catching you in the act!"

"That's  _ not _ —!" John's objection is strangled by emotion, pushing past it to shout hoarsely, " _ He was supposed to be dead _ ! And now he knows I'm here, he has to, and he's going to come for me and there is  _ nothing _ I can do about it!" He throws his hands in the air. "Nothing will ever stop him," he exclaims, "And there's no  _ point _ — there's no fucking point to  _ any  _ of this if he's just going to rip it away from me!"

John is easily twice as strong as Nick, but that doesn't stop Nick from wanting to grab him and shake him until he shuts up. "Maybe you should think about somebody other than yourself, then, you stupid bastard!" He throws a hand back towards the house. "If you go back to Joseph, you're going to ruin  _ our lives _ . We've been helping you because you  _ said _ you were done! We promised Grace you were telling the truth! Do you think she's going to forgive us? And how do you expect us to explain it to Carmina when you show up with your goddamn inquisition again? Eventually, you'll come for us, and you'll force Carmina through — and I  _ can't _ let that happen!"

Nick swallows back the heavy emotion that's threatening to overwhelm him. "Come the hell on, no  _ point _ ," he finally snaps, voice frayed. "You goddamn asshole."

John frowns heavily. He doesn't have anything to say in response, standing there mutely hopeless for a full thirty seconds before he finally tries to speak. "I didn't think about that," he finally mumbles.

"No, you did  _ not _ ." Nick sighs, heaving out all of the anger left inside. "Look. You can sit out here all night and wait for Joseph if you want, but you're doing it on your own. I'm not gonna watch you waste your time. If you're coming back inside, let's go."

Nick plays the gambit for what it is, turning his back to John and starting back for the house. He walks slowly, and though at first he thinks John might not follow, he eventually feels John trailing behind him, a ball of tense anxiety right at his back. When they reach the front yard, John comes to a stop, forcing Nick to turn to him.

"I just... need a minute."

"It's way too late for this," Nick groans, "Just — be quiet when you come back upstairs. I don't need Carmina waking up a second time."

John swallows. He looks weirdly desperate as he tries to find something to say, but that's no surprise. He's always perpetually waiting for Nick or Kim to start treating him the way he would treat his own prisoners. "Okay," he rasps, like he might start crying again.

That is Nick's cue, so he darts back inside and upstairs, careful to limit the creaking as much as he can so as to not rouse Carmina. Hopefully she didn't keep Kim up with a bunch of questions about what's going on — those will be fine in the morning, but Kim doesn't get enough sleep as it is.

Kim is still awake, even if Carmina has passed out again. She looks worried, and Nick can't help but wonder how much of their argument had made it through the windows and cracks in the wall.

"Is everything okay?" she asks as he shoves off his jeans and climbs back into bed.

"Who knows," Nick sighs. "He's outside. Don't worry, I locked our door, and the rifle's right here."

"I'm not worried about that," Kim mutters. She brushes some of his hair out of his face as he lies down, following his lead reluctantly. "Next time, let me handle it."

Nick yawns and closes his eyes. "That's crazy talk," he mumbles, although maybe next time John has a meltdown, it  _ would _ be better for Kim to take care of it. That's a problem for Nick tomorrow, though — right now, his brain is shutting off the lights at a rapid pace, and it's barely a minute later before Nick has completely passed out.

* * *

Nick wakes up to the cool, blue-gray light before dawn. It takes a few minutes for Nick to gather the energy to move, but he needs to check and see what happened to John after last night. Hopefully, he went back to bed and Nick will only have to look outside his own door to check on him.

Kim and Carmina are still fast asleep as he carefully climbs out of bed, taking care not to step on the creakiest floorboards as he pulls on his jeans and boots. He's sure that Kim would be glad to do this for him, but she needs to rest and he needs to make sure he didn't put his faith in the wrong Seed brother.

The whole house is quiet. Even the creaks that he can normally hear all night have eased up, leaving Nick's footsteps to echo as he carefully steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

John's door is still hanging open. Nick takes a moment to look in, but John's nowhere to be seen; when he closes the door, the broken lock scrapes against the doorframe and leaves it stuck half in place. It'll be easy enough to repair, and Nick knows just the petulant jackass to fix it.

The stairs creak as Nick heads down into the first floor gloom. There's only enough light to clear the darkest shadows, but once the sun rises and they open up the back porch, it'll be fine. For now, Nick heads out the front door and circles around the the backyard. There's a chance that John' won't be found anywhere, that he's given up and gone off to find his family, but Nick can't bring himself to consider it. After everything John said last night — Nick would never be able to believe the man if he turned out to be a turn-coat.

Thankfully, John isn't hard to find at all. He's taken a seat on the empty planter, watching the spinach heads grow. From his pale, haggard face and the dampness of his shirt, it's clear he stayed out here all night. He doesn't outright acknowledge it as Nick approaches, but there's no mistaking the way his entire body tenses for a fight.

It's way too early for a fight, and honestly Nick doesn't think he's got one in him anyway. "Morning," he offers instead, coming to a stop next to the planter. "Guess you didn't get any sleep."

John exhales. "No," he says, his voice rough. He hesitates another second or two longer. "I needed to think."

"Yeah, I figured."

On the right side of groggy like he is, Nick doesn't hesitate to take a seat next to John. He drags his boot through the dirt for an awkward moment, before finally saying, "I guess you decided to stay."

"I was never going to..." John bites his cheek, taking a breath before continuing in a more subdued tone, "I didn't want to leave. I'm well aware that I'm better off here than I've been anywhere else. It was just... a lapse in clarity." He takes a breath, like he might be gearing up for one of those old-fashioned monologues of his, and Nick finds himself weirdly eager to hear it. Kim's curiosity is definitely rubbing off on him.

"I've had these... dreams," he admits quietly. "For years now. They're... intense. So vivid, so real that I used to... They used to consume all of my time." His hand gestures limply towards the ground, as close as he's ever gotten to talking openly about the bunker. "They happen less, now, but I still recieve... messages, warnings from Joseph. When I thought he was dead, they were easier to ignore. But I never could dismiss them outright. And the one I had last night felt so real. So much so that I suppose I didn't realize when I woke up. All I could think about was what he was saying and I... I panicked."

Nick probably shouldn't ask. This is the most John's spoken in months, and he shouldn't interrupt, but he can't help himself. "What'd he say?" he asks.

John looks over at him, his expression complicated and dark. "That he knew where I was," he says. "That no one would stop him from saving me." He closes his eyes, turning his face away. "But he didn't come," he finishes. "He didn't show. It was just a dream. I know that now. I won't make the same mistake again."

There's nothing Nick can say to that, and nothing that John wants to add, so they sit in silence for a minute or so.

Eventually, John looks back to Nick, checking him over for weapons with much less panic than last night. "What happens now?" he asks.

"Well, we still have half a fence to build," Nick points out. "Plus, we gotta start laying out plans for the electrical wiring, so when we get the generator up and running..."

"I meant with me," John interrupts. "I broke out — I tried to escape. Doesn't that warrant —  _ something _ ?"

"You're going to have to fix the door," Nick replies. "And you're already doing the heavy lifting around the house. You want me to ground you, or something? No dessert for a week?"

John sighs heavily. "You could come up with better than that."

"I don't  _ want _ to come up with something better." Nick braces his feet on the dirt, but fails to stand at the last moment, even though he wants nothing more than to propel himself out of this conversation. "Life is already hard enough as it is. I'm not going to add to it just to make you feel better."

It's clear from his furrowed brow that John doesn't get it, but that's okay. Nick's satisfied with the peaceful resolution as it is. John might scowl in confusion at the ground, but at least he isn't demanding Nick take a pound of flesh from him or something. It's too bad that he isn't satisfied by simply apologizing, since that's all Nick needs, but he'll get the hang of it eventually. Lord knows he's gotten the hang of plenty else so far.

Nick pushes himself to his feet. He might as well use this extra time to get everything ready for breakfast, even if it's technically Kim's turn to cook. Still, he stops to stand over John, waffling on whether or not the guy deserves some genuine comfort. He's been open and honest enough — Nick probably should do the same. "Look. I, uh, appreciate you telling me. About the, uh, dreams, and all that. I figured you'd forgotten how to talk about yourself." He hesitates, then suggests, "You might wanna go get some sleep before breakfast. We really do got a lot more fence to go over."

John turns his head, following the broken line of fencing that reaches out clear down to the end of the airstrip. "You're right," he says at last. "I should rest."

"Please tell me you don't need me to escort you all the way upstairs," Nick says, mostly joking as they make their way inside. Letting John walk around freely hasn't ended up in disaster so far, but John still seems surprised that Nick's going to let him continue on alone.

"No," he says, "I have it." He stops on the stairs, watching as Nick forcibly ignores him in favor of getting the kindling and cast iron skillet. When Nick fails to stop him, though, he finally turns and makes his way up. Nick tries not to make it obvious as he waits to hear John walk across the upper hallway to his room, the door scraping audibly against the frame as he opens and then shuts it again. Only then does Nick seriously get to work on starting the morning fire, glad to have some small task to distract him from the thoughts that would otherwise pin him in place — thoughts about loyalty, and about what John said, and about his own dreams that have sometimes seemed too real to be anything less than prophetic. Maybe someday, he'll sort all his feelings out, but for now he can build a fire and hold on to the vague suspicion he has that maybe, just maybe, pulling John out of that bunker had been a good idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (you know who the big jock in the hoodie is, don't you? let's just say they're gonna JUDGE you if you don't)


	9. Helping Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's allergy season, which means that Nick can't depend on Carmina for help today! Thankfully, he's got a perfectly good repentive cult leader hanging out downstairs to fill the role!

Nick knows that Carmina's runny nose, itchy eyes, and sore throat are from allergies. He's sure Kim knows it, too. But Carmina has only had one other allergy attack in her life, and today's heavy pollen has left her a miserable, bedridden wreck. It particularly sucks that it had to be this morning, because Nick and she were going to check the traps, which means she was already half out of bed before the real misery began. She hasn't been truly sick since she was four, and Nick is hoping that they can keep that streak going for the foreseeable future, so of course he isn't going to push her to come — it's just too bad, is all.

Of course, with Carmina bed-bound and Kim in anxiety mode over it, Nick doesn't have a lot of choices when it comes to checking the traps. Either he leaves them out there for some predator to take advantage of, or he trusts John to have his back out in the woods. Considering everything that's happened, Nick is fairly confident that John isn't a threat, but that doesn't mean he can't have some lingering reservations. After all, John has been a decent person for less than a year. He might be getting the hang of it now, but that doesn't mean it won't be easy to backslide into bad habits if he's given the chance.

John killing him is a toss-up, but there's no doubt Kim will murder him if he heads off on his own. So, once Carmina is bemoaning her fate in bed and Kim has her under control, Nick meets John downstairs.

"Lucky you," he says, interrupting John mid-breakfast. "Looks like you and I are going on a trip."

Although John looks at him as though he expects it to be a short trip out behind a barn, he manages to respond with a balanced amount of sarcasm. "I thought I wasn't supposed to leave," he says, accidentally pulling off a great impression of Carmina in the middle of an argument.

"Well, you already broke _that_ rule, what's one more time gonna hurt? C'mon, Kim will kill me if I go by myself, and I'm pretty sure she might kill _you_ if you hang around and stress her out more."

It's the first time since bringing John home that he's left the property, not that it's a particularly exciting first trip out. They aren't going very far — there are three traps set up along the river, easy enough to find if you follow the embankment — but John still keeps close, as if they're moseying down some foreign avenue and he doesn't want to get lost. Nick knows the route pretty well by now, but he's willing to take it slow so that John might memorize some of it himself.

"Strange how little things have changed out here," John says after a while. "I was expecting a blighted hell-scape, but all of this seems... _normal_."

"From what I've heard, the greenery took some time coming back, so we missed most of the actual apocalypse. I guess nature had a pretty big leg up without all the people around."

John hums neutrally in response. Nick glances his way, expecting him to be lost in some dark thoughts like he usually seems to be, but John is only observing the tall, thin trees and their patched canopies. Either he's getting better at handling his inner turmoil, or he's gotten better at hiding when he's spiraling.

"I guess you didn't get to see much lying in that ditch I found you in, huh?" Nick asks. Despite himself, he's not trying to be a dick about it. He's just curious, is all — John doesn't talk about his bunker or the circumstances that brought him topside where Nick could find him. For all Nick knows, John was up and running around for days or even weeks before he got sick.

"Not really," John admits. "Although from what it looks like, not much has changed."

"Yeah. You'd have to go into town to really see the difference."

At the mention of town, John's neutral silence turns noticeably uncomfortable. "I suppose I would," he says, hedging awkwardly around the topic. It's the same routine he pulls out every time Nick or Kim mention going to public spaces, especially this past month or so. Nick understands his reservations — hell, you couldn't pay Nick to go somewhere where he would be as unwanted as John would be in town — but Nick also doesn't want John to hide for the rest of his life. He doesn't think he can keep a secret that long.

John surprises Nick by taking it one step further. "They have enough to worry about without my inglorious resurrection making things worse," he admits, offering his first genuine reason not to go beyond not wanting to be killed by a mob.

Nick chuckles. "That's awfully considerate of you," he teases. He's managed to find a balance between antagonizing and friendly ribbing, although the difference is probably lost on John. "At this rate, you might convince people you're a whole other person."

Almost immediately, Nick regrets the suggestion. It would be relatively easy to fade into anonymous obscurity if John wanted — not that he thinks John would want to. Nick just doesn't want to be the guy giving him bad ideas.

"It's simpler to stay here," John replies, sounding as though he'd dismissed that option a while back already. "Safer. If Jacob taught me anything, it was that I wouldn't make it one week by myself in the wilderness."

It's another first to have John mention his family outside of verbally disowning them for other people's comfort. Nick wants to pry up those floorboards in particular, because the brotherly relationship between the youngest and oldest Seed _had_ to be a bizarre one, but John's pensive enough about it without him digging further. These are the baby steps that Kim's always talking about — he has to let them be small, and let John take them when he's ready.

They eventually reach the clearing, where scraggly trees give way to what used to be the river's embankment. With the river having moved some ten yards, the land has been left open to grow thick with weeds and vines. The traps they set out here tend to have the best luck; even Carmina's earliest snares managed to catch squirrels and rabbits all the time. Since it's been a couple of days since they last had meat beyond old jerky, Nick is especially hopeful that they're going to get lucky again today. The more traps that they fill, the more food they have, and the more food _they_ have, the more they can trade and give away. Nick isn't sure if paying Grace's trust back with rabbits is going to work, but damned if he isn't going to try.

Unfortunately, it looks like something else got to the trap before them. Nick examines the fibrous old rope that had kept the trap anchored to the tree, which must have frayed enough for some predator to drag the cage down to the bottom of the incline. It's an old animal control trap from before the bombs, so it's unlikely to have broken, but Nick is _not_ looking forward to making it down the embankment and getting mud up to his knees. Especially not while wearing his last pair of mostly-intact jeans.

"What are you doing?" John asks incredulously as Nick starts to gently pick his way through the brush down the slope. "That's a terrible idea."

"Suddenly you know so much about everything," Nick grouses. "We need that trap. I've got this, just stay there and —"

Nick hopes he never has to admit it again, but John is apparently right to warn him. The dirt under the thick foliage is loose and wet from the earlier rains, which Nick only realizes as he sinks his boot right into the root system of the vines holding the erosion at bay. He pitches down the hill, managing to bring up his arm a fraction of a second too late to save himself from going headfirst into the ground. His elbow takes most of the damage, followed immediately by his temple, ringing his bell so thoroughly that he misses the rest of his full-on tumble down the slope. He's face-first in the dirt one second, and face-up to the canopy the next, the world still spinning even when Nick is pretty sure he's hit the bottom.

Somewhere nearby he can hear the river, and all around him are deep green leaves and bright pink flowers. Sunlight shines in through the trees, and for a moment the amber light turns the world around him into an alien landscape. The plants rustle in the breeze; somewhere on the incline above, he can hear roots tearing through the dirt. They're miles away, on the contour just above him, and Nick struggles to focus on them.

Somebody is calling his name. How long has he been lying here? Dazed and aching as he is, Nick can't tell if it's been seconds, minutes or longer since he fell face-first down the hill. He doesn't want to move — his entire body aches, his ankle throbs, and there's a painful blooming knot behind his ear that tells Nick he definitely hit his head somewhere on the way down.

The sunlight shining down on him is blotted out as John Seed looms into view as he reaches the bottom of the embankment. Nick has trouble making heads or tails of what he's seeing at first, but as John approaches, he starts to make more visual sense. He's looking around the dirt, sliding his foot through the brush before every step. Nick doesn't know what he's looking for, but as soon as Nick catches sight of the rifle lying in the weeds nearby, he starts to get an idea.

He must see it at the same time as John does. As John reaches down to pick it up, Nick tries to come up with something more intelligible than a painful groan, failing miserably. John weighs the rifle in his hands, staring at it, largely ignoring Nick's struggling to move. Nick barely manages to push himself to his elbows by the time John sighs with noticeable relief, pulling the strap over his shoulder so that the rifle can hang harmlessly off his back.

He crouches down next to Nick, who's still struggling, even after the danger has passed. "Quit it," John tells him, reaching out to steady him before he goes falling back into the dirt. The relief he'd felt holding the rifle must've been short-lived, because he only looks concerned and mildly upset now. Nick can't help but think he's upset because Nick thought he was gonna shoot him. He should apologize for that, probably.

"Nick," John repeats.

"Ugh," Nick groans. "I think I smacked a rock on my way down." He reaches up to feel the back of his head, and it's only John's grip on his shoulder that keeps him from falling back again.

"Stop squirming," John sighs. "Just — _stop_."

Nick hates to listen to John's orders, but he's the one who didn't go ass-over-teakettle down the hill, so he's sort of the de-facto leader for now. It's a hard sell, but it's not like Nick's got any options right now, so he has to let John feel out the back of his head and reserves his complaints to pained hissing every time John prods the throbbing spot on his skull.

He feels momentarily faint when John pulls his hand away and reveals his bloody fingertips, but John doesn't seem phased in the least. "Lucky for all of us, you didn't crack your skull open," he says, somehow managing to sound both irritated and relieved at the same time.

He looks around them, which reminds Nick for the first time that they're at the bottom of a steep incline that goes on for a good mile in either direction. They're gonna have to go up the hill, which means Nick is going to need to keep it together at least long enough to get up to the top.

"I can make it," he tells John, who tries to mask his concern under schooled irritation as he looks back to Nick. "C'mon, I just need a hand up."

"I don't think it's going to be as easy as you seem to believe," John replies.

Nick groans, trying to push himself up. He doesn't admit how relieved he is when John grudgingly comes to help. He pulls Nick up by both shoulders, easily enough that it unnerves the crap out of Nick, but what's he gonna do? Complain that John is strong enough to help him?

As soon as he tries to put pressure on his left ankle, Nick knows he's screwed. He bites his tongue for the first second or two, but the sharp glass twinge every time he tries to rest his weight on it is too much to bear. "Ah, _fuck_ ," he hisses, ready to sink to the ground again, "Yeah, that's not good."

John grabs Nick before he can drop back down to the ground, taking the weight that Nick's leg can't handle. "Damn it," John grunts. "You couldn't have listened to me just once?"

Nick laughs like it's supposed to be a joke, but John only looks offended in response. He yanks Nick's arm over his shoulder and asks briskly, "Which way?"

Nick is still thinking of climbing back up right here, but with his leg like it is that's probably not a great option. "Uh, that way," Nick chooses almost at random, his only hunch that the northern bend might ease more than the southern one.

John doesn't say much while they walk. Nick doesn't either, mostly focused on keeping his weight off his foot and trying not to give in to the urge to lie down and nap for a decade or two. Every wrong step on his bad leg makes his vision gray around the edges, but John walks slowly enough that those become few and far between.

Nick can't believe that John has ever had this amount of patience within him, much less that he's using it now as Nick grunts and tries to maintain his balance. All of his weird television ads had made him seem intense and caring, and all of the Peggies seemed to find him comforting, but Nick had realized pretty quickly that it was all an act. Or, he'd thought it was, until now, finding himself being partially carried through the forest without even the pettiest of complaining.

The incline begins to ease. Nick has no idea how long they've been walking — it's either been minutes or hours, and it's not his job to keep track of that kind of thing right now. All he's supposed to do is keep calm and coherent. Mostly coherent. Awake, anyway.

"We'll go up here," John decides at one point. "Do you need to rest?"

"What?" Nick asks, blindsided by the question. "No. What?"

"Oh, good," John sighs, "I was wondering when the brain damage would show."

He seems offended again. Nick keeps accidentally offending him, which sucks. When Nick had _wanted_ to offend him, he never managed to, but now he doesn't even have to try. He should probably apologize, but that would set a bad precedent, wouldn't it?

"Man, I don't know, just get me home already!"

John heaves an extremely frustrated sigh, accompanied by a heavy eye-roll, and then he and Nick start the long trek up the hill. It's slow, _slow_ going; even without Nick's sprained ankle, the dirt is loose under the brush and every step could lead to either of them rolling back down to the bottom. Even so, John keeps a firm grip on Nick's arm, digging his boots into the hillside before helping Nick drag himself up. Not once does Nick think he's going to fall.

They stop to rest at the top of the incline. Nick flops down, almost lying back before remembering that he should probably keep awake. That's what you're supposed to do with a concussion. He hasn't had one since he was a teen, but it's sort of like riding a bike. Right?

After taking a minute to catch their breath, John pulls Nick back to his feet, taking noticeable care not to force more strain than necessary on his bad leg. It's not a long walk of shame from here, but Nick's making it difficult to go at any speed other than a crawl. Even though he's taking forever, and he has to stop every few feet, John remains oddly patient. Well, it's not _really_ odd - most decent people would cut a guy with a busted ankle and a concussion some slack. It's just - well, John isn't most decent people. He isn't even _any_ decent people. But he waits for Nick to catch his breath when he seems winded and doesn't comment on how easy it would be to throw him to the wolves like this. Nick's made plenty of jokes and off-color comments about that kind of thing, but now with the tables turned, John isn't giving as good as he gets, and the guilt is starting to gnaw irritatingly in his gut. He probably should apologize.

He doesn't, but that's mostly due to his struggle to keep conscious. The longer they walk, the weirder the world around him feels — fuzzy and distant, sort of unreal. He's more watching the situation unfold than experiencing it. He needs to sit down and rest. He needs to take a goddamn nap and try not to use his brain any more than he usually does.

John waits until they reach the airstrip to reveal his fraying nerves. "Kim!" he shouts, repeating her name one more time for good measure before muttering mostly to himself, "She is going to kill me."

"Welcome to my life," Nick replies, because John just wasn't quiet enough.

Kim rushes from the house before they've cleared the hangar, catching herself a few feet from colliding with them. She looks ready to fight, or run, or _both_ , but instead, she hovers there anxiously. "What the hell happened?" she exclaims, trying not to raise her voice as Carmina watches them from the porch.

"I'm fine," Nick groans, waving Kim's concern away before it starts freaking him out. "Slipped down the hill is all."

John doesn't sound so blase about it as he tells Kim grimly, "I think he may have a concussion."

"I definitely have a concussion," Nick agrees, having forgotten about that part. "Sprained my ankle, too. I don't think it's broken, anyway..."

Kim sighs, relieved and exasperated in equal measures. "Come on, let's get him inside," she says, and to Nick's never-ending surprise, she willingly lets John continue supporting him. She lets them go by as she stops by Carmina, who looks sniffly but otherwise healthy. "Everything's fine," she tells her as John helps Nick into the house. "Your dad just slipped."

"I thought John wasn't supposed to have guns?" Carmina asks.

"Let me worry about that. Go ahead and read without me, I'll be back down in a minute."

When Kim catches up, John shrugs out from under Nick's arm, letting her take over supporting him as he goes to disarm himself. Every movement he takes is slow and deliberate, leaving no surprises as he carefully pulls the rifle from his shoulder.

"Just put it over there," Kim tells him, and to Nick's surprise, she doesn't give him a backward glance as she helps Nick up the stairs. She doesn't even indicate where "over there" is, she's so unconcerned with John having a firearm!

He manages to share a bewildered look with John before craning his neck becomes too much, Kim dragging him upstairs to the comfort of their room. "What are you doing," he hisses at her as she shoulders their way through the door. "You left him alone with the gun _and Carmina_?"

Kim sighs wearily in response. "What did you do?" she asks as she maneuvers him to the bed.

He sits with a groan, immediately thinking of how nice a nap sounds right now, but Kim's hand on his shoulder keeps him upright. He can take a nap once they make sure he didn't do more than ring his bell. "One of the traps was down a hill, and... I guess I followed it. Really, Kim, it's no big deal."

"You should have been more careful," Kim scolds, although her worry is keeping her from chewing him out properly. "What if John hadn't been there?"

Nick waves a hand, probably too dismissively. "C'mon, you would've found me eventually."

Kim scowls at him until he almost apologizes, distracted only when she hears John coming up the stairs. "Okay," she says, "You need to rest. Don't move. I'll get you some water and we'll clean you up."

She leaves the room before Nick can argue any of the points. He huffs at her retreat, but at least she doesn't lock him in like she would whenever he got the flu. Probably because the lock doesn't work so well anymore, but Nick can pretend it's her trusting him not to get out of bed.

Through the crack in the door, he can hear Kim as she meets John out on the landing. It's only then that Nick realizes how dangerous all of this could be — but the actual threat doesn't feel as present as it used to with John. He's gone rotten-soft, apparently, but at least John isn't likely to take advantage of it. Not without some convincing, anyway.

"I tried to stop him," John says. "He wouldn't listen."

"Welcome to the club," Kim replies, which might be true, but _ow_. "Thanks for bringing him back."

John doesn't say anything to that. Nick closes his eyes, only to be surprised when John continues the conversation. "I know where the trap is," he says, "It'll only take an hour or two for me to go get it."

Kim clicks her tongue. "No way."

"It can't just sit there. And there are still other traps to check." There's a beat before John continues in frustration, "What? You can't possibly think I'm trying to _escape_."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Kim says. "It's a family rule. Nobody goes out by themselves if they can help it. Don't worry about the trap, okay? We can get it later."

Nick doesn't hear John's response. He's not even sure there is one. After a quiet moment, Kim speaks again. "You can go in, if you want. I'll be back up in a minute."

"Yeah," John replies. His voice sounds really rough, enough so that he clears his throat and repeats, "Yes."

Even then, Nick doesn't quite expect it when John eventually enters the room. "You can come in, I'm not _dying_ ," Nick groans when John hesitates at the door. It's enough to earn him a nasty look, which is better than the weird sickbed sympathy, and John shuts the door behind him with a lot of false bravado to make up for his discomfort.

Nick opens his mouth to make a joke about John using this chance to kill him, but the words don't come. It must be the concussion making him feel guilty even thinking about it. His brain is addled and he's thinking more about how hard John's been working now rather than how about how awful John was before. Still — it would be a low blow, and Nick is trying to be better than that.

"You... uh..." Nick clears his throat, the words rattling around in his head out of order until he shakes them into place. "You... really came through for me back there."

"What?" John asks, startled.

Nick is startled, too, because as soon as the words come out of his mouth, the months-long ball of guilt that's grown in his stomach eases somewhat. "Yeah," he admits. "It's probably the concussion talking, but, uh. Thanks."

You'd think Nick had tried to punch him with how John reacts. "You're welcome," he rasps, looking like he needs to sit down.

"Don't think this lets you off the hook or anything," Nick adds. "You're still a miserable bastard, and I still _really_ dislike you, but at least I know I can trust you not to leave me for dead."

The word _trust_ seems somehow worse than Nick's thanks. "You don't mean that," he says, like he can demand Nick change his emotions.

But Nick _does_ mean it, and being told otherwise is frankly sort of irritating. "Of course I do. You think I would have taken you with me today if I thought you were gonna betray me?"

"I... hadn't thought about it," John admits.

"And would I have let you carry a firearm into the house if I thought you would use it on us?"

"You didn't have a choice in the matter."

Nick groans. "Jesus, John."

"Sorry," John snaps, not apologetic in the least as he points out, "It's not like I'm _used_ to this."

"What, people _trusting_ you?"

John doesn't have the chance to respond; before he can do more than look moderately offended, the door opens. Kim comes in with Carmina in tow, checking their expressions for just a second before letting Carmina follow her into the room.

"Everything good in here?" she asks, just in case.

"I could use a nap," Nick tells her, as if he hasn't been having a heart-to-heart with John Seed just seconds ago. When Carmina comes forward, she's got a stiff upper lip and an extremely worried pair of eyes, so he makes sure to smile big for her. "What's the matter, sweetheart? I just rolled my ankle."

She reaches over to hold his hand on the bed, which just makes him feel like an old grandpa about to give away his farm. "I'm sorry I didn't want to go," she sniffs, heavy with self-guilt. "It's just allergies, and I'm good at climbing. I would have been able to help."

Nick wraps both hands over hers, pulling her until she climbs onto the mattress with a little laugh. "It's okay," he tells her. "John handled it alright."

From the way John is standing, leaning towards the door, he probably doesn't want to stick around much longer, but he tries not to look like he's trying to escape when Carmina turns her big eyes on him. She's expecting him to say something to reassure her, but when all he does is stand like a deer in headlights, she loses interest.

"Okay," Kim says, with a damp piece of fabric in hand. "Let me clean you up so you can get some rest."

Nick obliges, mostly because he can't resist, and lets Kim lean him forward so that she can get a clear shot at the gash behind his ear. Carmina lays beside him, fingers wound in his shirt as she watches her mom work. For his part, John lingers close to the door, not running yet even though he has a clear escape route. He watches Nick hiss through Kim's care, going through a lot of effort to keep himself removed. It makes sense. John isn't part of the family, and even if he were, family seems to be close to a four-letter word when it comes to the Seeds. Still — they're edging around the six-month mark and even Nick has to admit, John's pulled enough weight around here to warrant a little more opening up on his part. After all, the bastard _did_ just drag him home.

"Hey," he calls out, drawing John's uncertain attention. "Tomorrow, you and me will go finish the run."

Kim tuts at him like he's a five-year-old. "You don't even know if you're going to be on your feet tomorrow."

"I'm gonna be _fine_ ," he grouses.

"Why don't we wait until you're feeling up to it, and then we can all go together?" Kim asks, as diplomatic as ever. "It's been a while since we could go somewhere as a family."

"Really?" Carmina asks, perking up. "Can we go swimming? Should we bring the fishing poles?"

Kim laughs gently. "We'll make a day out of it, sure."

" _Finally_ ," Carmina sighs, laying her head on Nick's chest.

Nick isn't sure if John knows he's being included in the plans Kim is making or not, but he doesn't try to question it or run from it. He stands there, willingly letting the Ryes make plans around him, and watches with a complicated expression. Even in the face of familial love, though, John doesn't bolt. Nick can give him credit for that.

"Alright, I think that's it," Kim declares at last, once she's cleaned up Nicks cuts and double-checked his ankle to make sure it's only been sprained. "There's nothing left but for you to get some rest." Nick begins to ask a question, but Kim cuts him off with a smile. "You're coherent enough that sleep isn't out of the question. I'll keep an eye on you."

"Thank God. I feel like I just got dragged a mile up-hill."

With a fond shake of her head, Kim pushes herself off the bed, moderately surprised to see John still standing near the door. "I'm sure we can find something for you to do," she tells him.

John nods in response, but he doesn't move until Kim approaches, ushering him out the door. She turns at the doorway and addresses Carmina, who seems to be pretending to be asleep for the moment. "Don't keep him up too long, sweetheart," she says. "He needs to rest."

"Okay, mom," Carmina mumbles, just like a sleeping girl might if she weren't lying. Kim rolls her eyes, leaving the door cracked as she heads out into the hall.

Nick and Carmina lie in bed for a few minutes without talking. Nick starts to drift almost immediately, although he suspects Carmina is about to start talking any time now. Sure enough, after the comfortable silence passes between them, Carmina tugs gently on his shirt to get his attention.

"Does this mean I can talk to John without you getting mad, now?" she asks.

Nick groans quietly, wrapping an arm around her. "He might not like that," he points out, because it's more diplomatic than saying "no" outright.

"Dad..."

He heaves a sigh. "It means... I don't know what it means." He runs his hand through her hair, closing his eyes. "I don't trust him with you, sweetheart," he admits at last. "But you're getting old enough to start trusting your own gut on this kind of thing. Just... listen to the voice that tells you if something's a bad idea. If John does something that raises that voice, you come tell me or your mom."

Carmina breathes quietly for a moment. "Mom said he hurt you," she mumbles.

"Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, he definitely hurt me." He drops his free hand over his chest, right across the raised scar near his heart. "It was a long time ago, though. And I don't think he's gonna do it again."

"But you don't know?"

"Nope." Checking her expression, Nick can't help but chuckle when he sees her frustration plain as day. "Some things are unknowable, Carmina — especially the future. All you can do is trust your instincts. Your mom and I never knew how bad things were gonna get, but when my gut told me to stock the bunker, I listened to it. And when your mom's instincts told her it was time for us to go topside, we listened. So far, so good."

Carmina's irritated frown softens as he talks, but Nick still worries that he's gonna say the wrong thing. He's always worried about it with her. Carmina is smart, but kids see everything in black and white, and he doesn't want to accidentally turn his kid into someone like Hurk. Then again, Hurk _is_ still alive and comfortably set up with weapons and alcohol, so maybe he isn't such a bad guy for Carmina to emulate.

Oh, he definitely needs to take a nap if he's starting to consider Hurk a decent role model. "Daddy's gonna close his eyes for a bit," he says, well after his eyes have already drifted shut.

"Me too," Carmina mumbles. Nick isn't about to push her away, and so thankfully, he gets to fall asleep to the sound of his daughter's gentle breathing, her small fingertips resting against the scar tissue that he's been trying to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (oh hey, this is also one of my favorite chapters, just in case you want to look for a pattern in my work!)
> 
> i appreciate your comments, kudos and those longing gazes you send to the kudos button when you've already given kudos but you want to do it again because it's easier than leaving a comment. i get it my dude, and i feel that wistful look in my soul.


	10. A Hand of Caravan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gets a late-night warning about a group coming through the area that could disrupt all the hard work the Ryes have done with John.

Pastor Jerome radios the Rye family late one night, so late that Nick had been just about to turn off the receiver when his voice comes down the line. Exhaustion has left a permanent mark on everybody, and Nick doesn't miss it in Jerome as they connect over the airwaves.

"A caravan is going to be passing through the valley tomorrow," he says grimly, with no preamble. "People heading west. There was talk of stopping by your home."

"What?" Nick asks. "Why?"

"People still look to your family for guidance, Nick. I imagine they want to say goodbye before they leave. Others are looking to trade, or just to reach out. It's been a long time. I suppose they'd want to leave on a positive note."

A year ago, Nick would have been excited for the company. Knowing a bunch of friendly settlers were coming around to say hello and help out before heading off on their own would have saved him plenty of pain and trouble in the past. But these days, other people coming around can be... complicated, and for reasons that Nick has trouble explaining even to himself.

That's probably the reason Jerome decided to reach out so late. They only got to talk briefly about it in town, since there were too many people to overhear them and honestly, Jerome hadn't seemed keen on having a conversation about John Seed almost a decade after the fact. But they  _ had _ talked, enough that Jerome has trusted Nick to do what's best without interference until now.

"What do you think I should do?" Nick asks, sure that Jerome will know what he's talking about.

There's a lot of hissing and popping on the line before Jerome responds. "I don't know," he says. It sounds like an apology. "I can't imagine being in the position you're in."

Nick scrubs at his eyes, leaning back in his chair. He clicks the button to let Jerome know he's still there, but it takes a moment to come up with something to say.

"Do I know anyone coming through?" he asks at last.

"You will," Jerome replies. "If not by name, then by face. Hurk and Sharky have offered to escort them part-way. There are some resistance members who want to leave. A few who look like they might've gotten through baptism before the end."

Nick clicks his tongue against his teeth. That's what he was worried about. A couple of survivors who have let eight years rot their hatred would be okay. Hurk and Sharky aren't even that threatening, lawless raider shit aside. But former cultists are going to clock John immediately, and there's no clean way to explain that it isn't the Ryes who betrayed them, but actually John, who's abandoned the very principles that led him to cause so much suffering. Nick's almost okay with the guy, and even  _ he _ occasionally feels a twinge of fury when he catches sight of the huge scar over his heart.

"Are you sure you know what doing?" Jerome asks. " _ Really _ sure?"

Nick chuckles. "Hell, Jerome, I've  _ never _ known what I'm doing. But, uh... yeah. More than I was when we talked, anyway."

"Even with Joseph's reappearance?"

"Weirdly enough,  _ especially _ 'cos of that. I know I'm askin' a lot of you, but you gotta trust me."

There's no chance that Jerome really means it when he says, "I  _ do _ trust you, Nick," but at least he's committed to the lie. "If I can, I'll join them. Try to help keep the peace, when the time comes."

"If the time comes."

Jerome sounds disappointed. "You said you weren't hiding him."

"And we aren't!"

"You can't honestly expect everyone to take the news well."

"A man can hope, can't he?"

"That's about all he can do," Jerome replies. "I'll pray for you, Nick."

"Gee," Nick sighs, "Thanks. See you tomorrow, hopefully."

Nick turns off the radio. He stretches his arms out, as if maybe relieving his sore back will make him feel less tense and anxious about Jerome's news. Of course, it doesn't really help; there's still a caravan passing through tomorrow, and there's going to be some kind of reckoning when it shows up. Nick doesn't know what kind of fallout is going to come from it, but he knows well enough not to hope for the easiest outcome.

Carmina is already asleep when Nick comes up, sprawled out on the edge of the bed. It's not gonna be long now before she starts kicking them through the night, and then they're going to have to figure out a new sleeping arrangement, but Carmina seems as uninterested in changing things as Nick is.

"Just got off the radio with Jerome," Nick tells Kim, keeping his voice low and level so as not to alert Carmina. "Wanted to tell us about a caravan passing by tomorrow."

Kim frowns. "Oh," she says uneasily. "Have you told John?"

"Nah. Gonna wait until the morning. Don't want him trying to bolt in the night."

Even though neither of them think John is going to try to run away, Kim still nods in agreement. "What are we going to do?" she asks instead. It's funny, because he'd been about to ask her the same thing.

"Hell if I know," Nick sighs. He climbs into bed at last, Kim moving over to take the center of the mattress. "But I'll come up with something."

* * *

Nick doesn't come up with anything all night. By the time morning rolls around, he's had more ideas than sleep and none of them are anywhere near perfect. They all come down to deciding whether or not John should face the parade of people about to come to their door or not, and he is evenly split on the matter. After all, it could be fine; there could be some yelling and some drama; or there could be a full-on fire-fight. There's a not-outside chance that someone might shoot John before they have a chance to explain themselves. There's a chance that they might shoot Nick, too, for harboring him this whole time.

He knocks on John's door right around sunrise, waiting long enough that he almost knocks again before John grunts something incoherent from the other side of the door. He looks like Nick just woke him out of a relatively good dream, too, which is particularly bad luck. Well, John wanted to pay some kind of penance for his bullshit, right? Might as well start now.

"Sorry," Nick says, even though he's only  _ sort of _ apologetic. "We, uh... have a problem."

"Oh, good," John groans, sitting up and putting his feet on the floor. "Just the sort of thing I like to hear."

Normally, Nick would be glad for a distracting snappy argument over John's attitude, but he doesn't know exactly how much time they're going to have to get ready and Nick doesn't know if anyone's going to radio him ahead of time. John being a catty dick first thing in the morning is the least of Nick's problems right now.

"Look, Jerome radioed in last night. A caravan's gonna pass by on their way out of Hope County."

John's bleary irritation evaporates at the words. "Oh," he says.

"Yeah,  _ oh _ . You still wanna get back to your beauty sleep?"

"What am I going to do?" John exclaims, lurching halfway to his feet before thinking better of it and sitting back down. He looks up at Nick, who isn't prepared to feel like the only responsible adult in the room, and asks helplessly, "What should I do?"

For once, John's stressed-induced obedience seems reasonable, trying to show restraint instead of hoping for Nick to feed him instructions like some kind of machine.

"You... have a plan, don't you?" he asks.

"I have plenty of plans," Nick replies. "Problem is, they all suck. I guess we could set you up somewhere for the night, so nobody finds you... or, well, we don't. The caravan's mostly leaving for good, but not all of 'em are gonna stay gone, and if they find out I lied to their faces..."

Nick chews on his cheek to keep from rambling on, but the truth is that he doesn't want to lie if he can help it. It wouldn't be right.

"If I stay, they'll kill me," John counters, pretty compellingly all things considered.

"That... might happen, yeah," Nick admits reluctantly. "I mean, not if I can help it, but I don't know what kind of people are gonna show up. Maybe they're the reasonable type."

Sighing heavily, John scrubs a hand heavily over his eyes. Nick is weirdly reminded of Kim in the middle of an argument about classic movie plot points. "I think you overestimate the average person."

"Hey,  _ I'm _ an average person, and I take offense to that."

John scowls at Nick for a moment, and Nick is again reminded of Kim mid-argument. "No, Nick. You're not."

Nick... doesn't know how to respond to that. "Uh, okay, well," he says, stalling out.

John runs his hand from his eyes back through his hair. "Whatever you think is best," John says at last. He almost doesn't seem to realize it when he says, "I trust you."

"Oh," Nick says. He wants to say more, probably  _ should _ say more, but he can't think of anything to say. "Well, uh, that's good, I guess. I could still use your help, uh, figuring out the logistics." He points his thumb back over his shoulder and asks, "You, uh, want some coffee? 'Cos I need some."

John huffs. "Yeah," he sighs, knowing full well that he doesn't have much of a choice. "Sure."

* * *

It's obvious from the beginning that hiding John isn't going to work. Nick word-vomits about how uncomfortable the idea makes him for a solid two minutes, only to receive a few short agreements from John that are barely better than noncommittal grunts. From the start, John is nervous and uncomfortable, the coffee doing nothing to ease his anxious jitters, but at least Nick can talk out a plan with him without feeling like he's hurling words at a brick wall.

By the time the sun has reached vaguely nine-AM, they've decided that they can't simply drop the news like a bomb, and they know that John is going to hide out in the hangar until Nick decides it's time to fess up. It's a bare-bones plan that has no consideration for logistics, but at least when Kim wakes up, they'll have  _ something _ to offer other than worryingly asking for her help.

Kim comes downstairs without Carmina, who's probably happy to sleep in for another half-hour or so before the sun nails her in the face and forces her out of bed for good. Kim looks like she barely slept, but she smiles warmly at Nick when she sees him, and groans thankfully when he gets up to get her a cup of coffee.

"So," she asks after she gets a cup of coffee, "What's the plan?"

Nick wouldn't call it a "plan" so much as a "vague idea," but he explains the thought-process anyway. John, who has already heard everything Nick has to say about stowing John away until the "right time" occurs, excuses himself with some half-assed excuse about cleaning the fire pit, ducking out back to probably pace around until he collapses under his own discomfort. Nick can't blame him, really; they're hanging his entire life on the end of a branch labeled "going with Nick's gut," after all.

"What exactly is going to make it the  _ right time _ ?" Kim asks.

"Well... I guess once we know everyone is here. After we figure out just how badly they might react. If they're real aggressive about it, we can always just... wait until Sharky and Hurk come back, and tell them."

"Yeah, I don't think either of them are going to be happy to know we hid John from them." She sighs, adding reluctantly, "I guess it's a good back-up plan. In case things go really badly from the start."

"God," Nick sighs, draining his cup of coffee, "I hope this doesn't blow up in our faces."

There are footsteps on the front porch, followed by a knock on the door. The two of them freeze, staring at the door for a hot minute until a recognizable voice calls from the other side: "Nick? Kim?"

"Jerome?" Nick calls, pushing himself up from his seat and heading to the door.

At first, he only opens the door a crack, enough to check that Jerome is on his own. When he's pretty sure the caravan as a whole hasn't shown up, he opens the door wide enough to block the entrance with his body.

"What are you doing here?" Nick asks. "The caravan can't be coming through already."

"No," Jerome replies. He looks winded, sweaty and dirty from what looks like a long walk. Nick hopes he didn't come all the way from town by himself on foot — that's more risk than it's worth, with all the wild animals out there. "They won't be here for hours yet. But I... I couldn't sleep. I had to get here before them."

"Jesus,  _ why _ ?"

It takes Jerome a moment to find the words, but as soon as he gathers the strength, he blurts them out before he loses his nerve. "There has to be something I can do to convince you not to throw everything away like this. Your family has been vital to the county, and I  _ cannot _ let you ruin your lives when we need to stay together the  _ most _ ! You're going to turn everyone against you! A monster like John Seed as  _ no right _ , asking you to risk your family like this!"

Jerome looks to Nick for some kind of reaction, deflating when he doesn't see what he wants. "He  _ cannot _ be worth it," he finishes miserably.

"Hey, now," Nick says, unable to help sounding offended. He hopes Jerome doesn't take it the wrong way, but from the scandalized look on his face, he most certainly has. "I know what I'm doing, okay?" he amends, feeling a little bad for lying.

A hand touches his back, and so Nick opens the door wide to accommodate Kim standing next to him. "Jerome," she says gently, as though she hadn't heard his outburst a moment ago, "Why don't you come in and have some coffee?"

"This isn't a social visit," he says, startled.

"You can still have a cup of coffee," Kim replies, nudging Nick out of the way. "Come in so we can talk."

Kim takes point from there, leaving Nick to shut the door while she brings Jerome to the table and has him sit, coffee already poured for him. With the living room cleaned up and Jerome sitting at close to his usual spot at the table, Nick finds himself transported backward in time. For a second, maybe even less than that, Nick can see the house the way it used to be — the way it might've been, if maybe they had been less wrapped up in the cult bullshit and more worried about the disquieting news coming in from outside their small ecosystem.

The moment passes, and Nick is still in this uncomfortable situation with a house that's falling down around him. Figures that he can't enjoy the fantasy for even a moment.

Nick mostly keeps to himself, hovering near the support beam while Kim does her best to explain the situation with John to an increasingly upset-looking Jerome. She rehashes the stuff he already knows, about how Nick found him, and the ultimatum that's kept him sheltered and fed for more than half a year now. She even mentions some of the work John's done for them, although she doesn't go into much detail. After all, not many people are going to be impressed by John sorting nails and repairing fences.

What she does focus on is John's reaction to their demands. The way he'd agree to anything, working himself well past the point of exhaustion, falling into mute obedience — Kim tells Jerome everything, listing his strange, unsettling habits like a worried mother talking to a pediatrician. He doesn't sleep. He talks to himself, struggles to focus past the things that have consumed his mind. She's worried about it, and what it means about his time underground. She's seen how people break. Despite everything, she thinks he sincerely is trying, but he won't open up and she can't help but worry that it might cause more problems down the line.

Nick doesn't know how comfortable he can be, listening to Kim discuss John's progress like a teacher talking about a troubled student. He manages to stick it out for a few minutes, but when Kim starts talking about Joseph, and the trembling wreck his appearance had turned John into, he finds himself making a measured retreat for the backyard. Somebody ought to tell John that Jerome has come by, right? And that somebody might as well be Nick, who can't stand to hear Kim worry about John goddamn Seed for another minute.

There isn't much to do in the backyard. Most of the fence is in place by now, and the debris has been pulled around back of the hangar, leaving the yard an empty wash of dirt tamped down by their daily movement. Even the fire pit has been cleaned up, thanks to Carmina taking her chores seriously yesterday. If John had come out here to try and find something to distract him, he's going to be hard-pressed.

For his part, John has taken up a spot by the planters. Kim and Carmina have planted some soy beans in the second planter, but they haven't taken off yet and none of them are sure they will. In the meantime, John plucks out some errant weeds, careful not to disturb the few sprouts that seem to have taken root.

"Hey," Nick says.

John barely looks Nick's way at the greeting. "I thought I heard something," he says instead, which at the very least saves Nick an awkward segue.

"Uh, yeah." He scratches the back of his head. "Jerome's just inside. I thought you'd want a head's up. The caravan shouldn't be here for a while, though. A couple of hours, anyway."

John swallows heavily. "That isn't much time."

Nick nods, looking around the backyard to avoid long eye-contact with John. "Not like we'd have anything to do if it were further away," he points out. "Things here are about as good as they're gonna get."

"It won't be enough." John fixes Nick with a dark look, one that reminds Nick that John's list of past transgressions is miles-long. "This isn't going to be enough for them."

"I guess you'd be the expert on repentance, huh?" Nick knows it's kind of a dig, but at least that ugly look on John's face is replaced by one that's more simply offended. "Look, I know you don't think we...  _ punish _ you enough around here or whatever, but..."

"Don't say it like  _ that _ ," John groans miserably.

"Hey, the point stands whether or not I say it! Just — trust us, okay?"

John shakes his head. He doesn't seem willing to admit to it again again, but that's okay. Nick knows he's got John's trust, even if it's been given mostly against John's better judgment. Considering this is the same guy who thinks Nick should have left a few prominent scars to convince strangers of his atonement, maybe Nick doesn't care so much about his judgment here.

"They won't be satisfied," John mutters.

"Maybe that's just  _ your _ dissatisfaction talking. Most everyone around here are good, decent people, even after everything they've been through. Anyone who thinks we didn't beat you enough is better off getting the hell out of my county. We don't have time for that kind of shit around here."

John is quiet for a bit after Nick's outburst. Nick's not surprised, since John seems incapable of understanding Nick's pacifism, but at least he isn't immediately refuting everything on principle alone anymore.

"I need it to be enough," John finally says hoarsely. "I can't have all of this be for nothing. I  _ can't _ ."

For once, Nick doesn't bother to stop his knee-jerk reassurances — John looks like he could probably use them. "Even if nobody else is convinced, uh... you should know, we do believe you. Sort of," he clarifies hastily as John casts a horrified look at him, "At least, I don't think you're bullshitting me right now."

John swallows thickly and nods. Words don't seem part of his acceptance, but that's all right, Nick doesn't need them.

The back porch creaks unhappily behind Nick, who turns to find Kim and Jerome standing there. John sees them too, half-rising to his feet before seeming to think better of it and sitting heavily back down on the planter.

"John," Jerome says. He doesn't sound happy, but at least he doesn't sound like he's about to chuck a Molotov in John's face.

"...Pastor Jerome," John responds, looking nauseous.

Jerome steps off of the porch. "We have some things to discuss."

Instinctively, John's hand reaches up, as if to stop Nick from abandoning him, but he aborts the gesture quickly, digging his fingers into the tire treads instead.

"...You're right," John admits. Even though he isn't trying to stop Nick from leaving physically, he looks like he absolutely does not want to be alone around Jerome. Unfortunately, Jerome's expression tells Nick that whatever words he has to share with John, they are private, and they're just going to make Nick wish he'd never heard them.

"It's gonna be fine," Nick tells him. He mostly believes it, too.

* * *

The front of the house has mostly been left to rot, which had been fine when Nick wasn't expecting a half-dozen cars to show up in his drive. With John and Jerome busy out back and Kim getting Carmina prepared for company, Nick is left alone to clean up the tumbleweeds that have made their home against the dilapidated remains of chain-link fencing. He could probably leave it — after all, nobody is expecting perfection these days — but somehow he can't bring himself to leave a poor first impression. What John said must have gotten to him, because here he is, looking over a patch of dirt and trying to see how he can make it seem like  _ enough _ . Proof that he knew what he was doing when he saved John, proof that he knows what he's doing now, trusting the guy with his reputation and that of his family.

Unfortunately, there's not much to save in the front yard, and Nick's bottle of weed-killer is six-years expired and empty to boot. They're all just going to have to work with what they've got.

Carmina comes out at some point to help, mostly by distracting Nick with lots of questions. Are there going to be kids coming? Is Grace going to show up too? Can she trade  _ The Wizard of Oz _ for another book? Will they mind that John is here? Shouldn't he be hiding? What if Grace  _ does _ show up, too? Is she going to be okay?

"Honey, I don't know," Nick replies to most of it. Thankfully, he taught her early on that adults saying "I don't know" is actually a  _ good _ thing — mostly because Nick says it too much to have his daughter think he's being dumb.

"All I know is that we're gonna do our best to be hospitable," he clarifies, because that's a lesson Carmina still hasn't learned anything about. "This is the first big caravan of the year. People are gonna be passing through a lot more as things get back to normal, and they'll always be a grab-bag. Uh, that means it'll be a surprise, what kinda people will come through."

"So there  _ could _ be kids?" Carmina asks hopefully.

"Sure," Nick smiles. "Kids, dogs, friendly old ladies who'll pinch your cheeks too hard. All sorts of people. But this one is...  _ extra _ important, you know?"

"Because of John?" Carmina asks. "That's what mom said."

Nick sighs. "Yep," he says, "Because of John." Maybe that's a little harsh, but it's true. Still, Nick tries to sound less exasperated when he continues. "Some of the people coming through probably won't be happy to see him. That's why Pastor Jerome is talking to him now — to see if he can help."

"I thought Jerome didn't  _ like _ John," Carmina replies.

"Nobody  _ likes _ John," Nick clarifies. "That doesn't mean we aren't gonna try to help him out."

" _ Why _ ? If nobody likes him..."

Nick sighs, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Because it's the right thing to do, Carmina. If somebody needs help, you oughta help them if you can. You know, even before the bombs, everyone out here relied on each other when things got tough. It might not be much, but that's one thing I'm not gonna give up on." He looks around the yard, mostly to avoid his daughter's eye-contact, but eventually, he offers her a smile. "You get it, right?"

"Sure," Carmina says, most likely not getting it at all.

* * *

It's not that much longer before the first car shows up. The dark blue sedan that rolls down their drive has heavily patched tires and a crack through the windshield, but the engine sounds plenty capable of a long drive. A mattress and a wardrobe box are strapped to the roof of the car with ropes, and the back seat is full of boxes, but Nick sure hopes they have more supplies on hand than what he sees.

"Go tell your mom," Nick tells Carmina, who nods and jogs off to warn everyone that it's show time.

Nick guides the car around a deep crack in the drive, and he's privately relieved to barely recognize either of the people in the car. The couple that climbs out is passingly familiar — Nick has a clear vision of the man at Lorna's, for some reason — and they seem excited to see Nick, but honestly, he couldn't name them if he tried.

"I sure hope Jerome sent word we were coming," the lady driving says after she dusts herself off. She's got her hair shaved up short, and a long welted scar runs from her temple to her nose. Nick remembers her, minus the scar, but he can't remember her name. Joan, maybe? Georgia? Something like that...

"That he did!" Nick offers her a friendly smile, gesturing towards the house. "We got everything all set up if you wanna make yourselves at home. Uh, he didn't tell us how many were coming, so I dunno if we got enough space, but..."

The guy, whose name Nick definitely doesn't remember, waves a hand in an attempt to ease Nick's worries. "Don't worry, it's just a couple of cars. Us, a couple guys who found a working Honda, and the Halls. They've got a big-ass truck, though, and a trailer, so they might need help with that ditch."

Kim comes around from the back before Nick needs to come up with more small talk. Pleasantly surprised as she recognizes their guests, she calls, "Julia, is that you?"

"Kim!" Julia exclaims, going in for a hug that Kim is glad to give. "It's so good to see you again!"

With the ice successfully broken and Kim taking point on hosting duties, Nick slowly feels himself start to relax back into the role himself. Julia and Clark are long-time Hope County residents, and they seem just as happy to have a brief return to normalcy as Nick is to indulge in it, so for the next few minutes, the conversation stays light and upbeat.

Clark can't give them a head-count, but he talks about the Hall family and their plan to head as far west as possible, implying the whole time that most people found the idea to be too risky to actually take on. When Carmina comes downstairs only to be disheartened by the lack of kids around, Julia is quick to reassure her that the Halls have a boy about her age. It's probably that news that keeps Carmina docile as Julia proceeds to fawn over how big she is.

Sure enough, the next car to come in is a large, beat-up F-150, the bed's sideboards painted with faded apple orchard logos. The family Clark and Julia mentioned are sitting up front in the cab, while three more people take up space in the bed. Nick helps them down the drive, careful of the small trailer they've got with them. The whole time, Carmina is waiting behind him impatiently.

Before Nick can join Kim in introducing Carmina to one of the few kids her age in the area, he's distracted by the third car rolling into the yard. The Honda is another four-door, although it looks more comfortable in the back than Julia and Clark's car, with or without the boxes. Nick catches sight of a toddler sitting on a woman's lap, which will probably bum Carmina out, but at least she can get some practice in with babies.

The headcount comes to ten people, minus kids, which is a lot less than Nick's worst fears expected. What's more, they all seem like reasonable people. The problem, though, is that Jerome definitely mentioned Hurk and Sharky tagging along, and Nick doesn't know how many people might be riding with them. Plus, they've been openly experimenting with the  _ Mad Max _ raider thing, and Nick isn't 100% sure just how hard they're leaning into it. Escorting a caravan full of families with minimal weapons doesn't exactly scream  _ cutthroat bastards _ , but the worry sticks to the back of Nick's mind.

Things are calm for the next hour or two. The three people who came with the truck all seem eager to keep moving at first, but they slowly relax once they're seated inside at the dinner table. With a couple of the windows unboarded and the back porch fully open, the inside of the house is filled with light. They had to get rid of the couch when they unburied it, but now Nick wishes they had more seating in here.

"The place looks great, right?" Julia asks one of the girls at the table. Neither of them have ever been here, Nick doesn't think, but they play along.

"Most of the houses collapsed," Katrina comments. She's the most jittery out of the three sitting at the table, and so far Nick only knows that she's from California and has been wanting to get back there since the bombs fell. "You guys got lucky."

"Things are way better once you get out of close-range areas like this," the girl sitting beside Katrina says. She calls herself Merit, and it's clear from her worn-out gear and her heavy goggle-lines that she's been traveling for a while. Nick wonders if she just happened upon the caravan, or if she helped put it together. "Some towns barely look any different."

"It took a lot of hard work to clean it up," Nick offers awkwardly. "You should've seen how much dirt we had to move."

It's weird, taking credit for John's work. Nick takes an immediate dislike to it. He would look to the third person at the table, a gruff and quiet man named Everett, for some kind of distraction, but the guy doesn't seem interested in conversation.

"You think Helena is going to be better than this?" Katrina asks Merit.

"Oh, hell yeah," she says.

As soon as Merit launches into hypothesizing what the next towns might be like, Nick makes a quick exit for the back porch. Carmina and the Hall kid — Liam, Nick's pretty sure — are drawing big shapes out in the dirt with sticks, gossiping as best they can without any daycare socialization to help them. Kim seems satisfied with it, anyway — enough that she can dedicate most of her focus on trading gardening tips and general life-hacks with the two other mothers in the group. Jerome rejoins the group for a few minutes, but after he drifts briefly through the conversations, he seems to disappear again. Nick isn't sure if that's a good sign or not, but he's gonna have to trust himself while he flies blind for a bit.

Nick doesn't know which is louder on Hurk's arrival: the three roaring motorcycle engines, or the cacophony of black metal that comes with them. It's a whole lot of presentation for three guys on some busted old Harleys, but it sure does the trick of drawing everyone's attention. By the time they rumble down the drive, everyone has congregated to the front of the house, just in time to witness an  _ almost _ coordinated stop beside the truck.

The music blares from an old stereo on the back of one of the bikes, so killing the engines doesn't do anything to stop it. He doesn't take off his helmet, but Nick recognizes Hurk swearing a blue-streak as he tries to shut the music off with as little noticeable fanfare as possible.

"Party train's in town, bitches!" he hollers, as if they aren't watching him beat up a cassette player in real-time.

The two guys with Hurk take off their helmets, and Nick immediately pegs them for ex-cultists. There's something about the way they look at the house, as if the last time they saw it they were busting in the doors at John's command. One of them, nearly as big as Hurk, the only hair on his head his long, untamed beard, looks like he never quite came off the Bliss, his eyes glassy and vacant. The other fills out their stereotypical raiders unit with his wild locs and big, unhinged smile, giving off real wild-card vibes in a pack already chock full of Jokers.

Neither of them are Sharky, which is... weird. Truthfully, seeing Hurk without his cousin is a little jarring — after all, they've been together since the world ended.

Hurk must notice him looking around because he's quick to put any worries to rest. "Sharky's gonna show eventually," he says. "Likes taking the road less traveled, y'know? Since all the roads these days aren't traveled, though, he's gotta get real weird with it." He waves a hand as though swatting away a troublesome fly. "You'll hear him before you see him."

It doesn't take long for that to backfire spectacularly in Nick's face. Not three minutes later, Nick catches the distant roar of an ATV somewhere out in the trees. He isn't the only one; pretty much everybody else swivels to nervously eye the woods until Sharky's caterwauling eases their deeply ingrained flight instincts. Like before, the entire crowd migrates towards the noise, following it into the backyard.

Nick tries not to worry about it as Sharky comes up from the wrong side of the hangar. After all, Sharky's probably gonna drive right by the hangar without so much as a second glance, and anyway, Jerome is there to run interference if things go south. Sharky's mellowed out since the apocalypse — surely he'd listen to reason. Right?

It's all Nick can think about while he and Sonny Hall talk about the potential hazards on their way out. He almost convinces himself that things are going to be fine by the time the ATV engine cuts off, writing it off as nothing more than a random habit of Sharky's to park in the most inconvenient places.

There's no way to rationalize the terrible crash from the hangar, followed by Sharky's blood-curdling holler of, " _ What the fuck _ !"

Sharky himself rushes from the hanger via the utility door, practically spilling out into the dirt wash between the two buildings. He rushes towards them with his mouth agape and his face pale from shock; he pulls up short as he catches Nick visibly flailing from his discovery.

"You wanna tell me what the  _ fuck _ John Seed is doing in your  _ fucking hangar _ ?" he asks, voice cracking as it fails to contain all of his outrage.

Nick opens his mouth to say something,  _ anything _ to ease the blow that's coming, but Hurk cuts him off at the head. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he scoffs loudly, waving a dismissive middle finger in Sharky's direction. "Do you know how fuckin' nuts you sound right now?"

Sharky's face turns beet red, fists clenching as he locks eyes with Nick for a brief, furious second before about-facing for the hangar. His betrayal and fury sting like a bitch.

"Sharky," Nick calls, but the guy is definitely not listening to him right now. He looks where Kim is standing, her hand tight on Carmina's shoulder, but she's just as lost as he is. They'd planned to segue into this, for God's sake! This isn't anywhere near what they planned!

Shit. Nick can't let Sharky be the first one to reach the hangar. He needs to get in front of this, before everyone swings into mob mentality and tears John to pieces. As he jogs in Sharky's furious wake, he can feel the group closing in behind him, fear and curiosity and utter disbelief drawing the whole goddamn posse down at once.

Sharky flings open the door and disappears into the hangar. Jerome tries to calm him down, urging him to hold on, but it does nothing to slow the guy down. Nick reaches the hangar in time for Sharky to shove John through the door, knocking him to the dirt in front of Nick's feet.

"Jesus  _ Christ _ !" someone shouts from behind him. Nick just  _ knew _ that haircut was going to get them into trouble — as if John's tattooed arms aren't bare and visible to the crowd.

"What the fuck is this shit!" Sharky shouts as he clears the door.

John remains on his knees, keeping his eyes fixed on the dirt beneath him. A flurry of anxious chatter goes up around Nick, who finds himself suddenly standing in a strange no man's land between John and the crowd he'd been part of just a minute before. It's a terrible feeling, watching everyone pull back from him like he's got some kind of disease or something.

Nick fumbles with the words that he wants to say, unable to have practiced for this awful scenario. "I, uh, can explain," he says.

"You'd  _ better _ ," one of Hurk's riders shouts.

"Look, okay, so..."

Nick is positive they aren't going to like the truth, but it's all he has to offer them. They never got a chance to see John lying in the brush like a wasted corpse — all they see now is the end result of all of Nick and Kim's hard goddamn work, trying to find some kind of real human being under all of the rot. He never should have kept John a secret — he should have forced everybody else to look at the work the three of them have had cut out for them, and then maybe they wouldn't be looking at him like he's some kind of  _ monster _ for admitting that John had just been too sick, too close to death already, for Nick to bring himself to pull the trigger.

"It wouldn't have been right to leave him there," he sighs.

"You should have put a bullet between his eyes!" Katrina shouts at him.

"Don't you think I considered that?" Nick snaps. "It was the first thing I thought!"

"Then why the fuck  _ didn't _ you?"

He throws his hands up, feeling crazy for having to shout, "Because  _ I didn't want to _ !" He's been thrown into some horrible alternate universe where people don't think twice about shooting first and never asking questions. "I've  _ never _ wanted to kill  _ anybody _ ! I didn't want to back then, and I sure as hell don't want to start murdering people  _ now _ ! And I couldn't just — I needed to know how he'd survived, if maybe Dep had..."

"Don't finish that sentence," Sharky warns.

"Or  _ what _ ? You think that they would've done it differently?" Nick points at John, who sits with his head bowed. "I found this sorry bastard struggling to breathe in the dirt! You tell me what Rook would've done differently if John hadn't given them a good damn reason to pull the trigger!"

"A  _ reason _ ?" Sharky spits in disbelief.

" _ Yeah _ , a fucking reason! I'm not a goddamn murderer, Sharky, and that's what it would've been!" He takes a breath, desperate to keep his cool. "We gave him an ultimatum," he continues. "He could stay with us if he did everything we said, if he swore off of the cult — and he did. He has, I mean. He isn't with the Peggies, he isn't with Joseph —"

"Yeah, until that sonuvabitch shows up and  _ takes _ him back!"

"Joseph can  _ try _ ." Nick scowls, glancing briefly down at John, who still hasn't moved, not even to look his accusers in the eye. "C'mon, John. Tell them."

"Like I'm gonna believe a word that fucking maniac says!"

John swallows. But for whatever reason, he manages to find enough words to begin defending himself. "The Project was a mistake," he rasps. "It was a pointless endeavor from the start and somewhere inside I knew that."

Katrina surges forward as though she might burst through the crowd and personally beat John to a pulp. Merit's hand on her arm is the only thing that keeps her from doing it. "You fucking monster!" she howls.

"Yes," John replies. He doesn't look up, too scared to, but Nick knows he means it when he says, "I'm sorry."

"Fuck your apologies!"

Jerome, standing quietly in the doorway until now, steps forward. He doesn't quite kneel, but he reaches down to put a firm hand on John's shoulder. It's not a comforting gesture — if anything, Jerome is holding him in place.

"I know," John rasps. He lifts his head at last, revealing a fresh black-eye, which is no doubt Sharky's doing. It takes him a moment to find the words, but he's resigned himself to the mercy of the crowd, and he doesn't try to plead with them.

"There's no forgiveness for the things I've done. There's no...  _ fixing _ it. I should have died. When Nick found me, I should have forced his hand, but I... couldn't."

"You had eight years to kill yourself," Everett points out grimly. "You should have done it then."

John swallows. "Yes," he says. "I really should have."

Nick can't help muttering an uncomfortable, " _ Hey _ ," but Jerome cuts him off just by looking at him. There's plenty of time to freak out about the suicide talk later, hopefully once John avoids being executed entirely.

"I was a coward," John says. The words come out with the force of a long-held confession. "I've always been a coward. It's why I joined Joseph when he found me and followed every word. It's why I listened to Nick when he told me to choose between being shot in the head or helping him. Everything I've ever done has been — just mindless self-preservation."

John swallows. Nick isn't sure who he's looking to, exactly, but he speaks to one person in particular as he says, "I tried to tear my sins out of you to save myself. Manual labor, mending fences — it's never going to be enough to make up for that."

"You bet it isn't," Everett says.

"You probably have enough skin for us to return the favor," Katrina says. Nick doesn't know if she's carrying a weapon or not, but he's pretty sure he'll be the only one to object if she pulls one on John now.

"Hey, now," Nick interjects, unable to help himself and absolutely unwilling to stop himself this time around. "We're better than that."

"Fuck you! You keep him around like a pet farm-hand on land that could keep us all safe and fed, forcing us to go fend for ourselves while you harbor a goddamn monster under your roof!" She points accusingly at the house. "Yeah, real nice place, you fucking  _ traitor _ !"

"Who do you think we made  _ fix everything _ !" Nick exclaims, throwing his arms wide. "The only reason we've got all this usable land is  _ because _ of John, goddamn it! And you all  _ want _ to leave. You said so yourself, you're not even  _ from _ here! If you think you can just roll onto  _ my _ property and act  _ entitled _ to it, I'll teach you the same goddamn lesson I taught those Peggies nine years ago!"

"More like cult property," some jackass says, as though shouting something loudly enough makes it true. Nick scans the crowd for the culprit, but there are honestly too many guilty faces to choose from.

"Eden's Gate is dead," John says, as if somehow  _ he's _ the person to bring reason and civility back into the conversation. "Whatever Joseph thinks he's doing now, it's a crippled organization of people more desperate than you. There aren't enough believers left to allow the Project to become a threat. Even if he wanted it, he could never take this property."

"As if I would believe  _ you _ ."

"You don't have to believe me," John replies, shrugging off the disbelief. "It's true either way. I know what the Deputy did to the bunkers. The most faithful were being held there — if they weren't destroyed with the gates, then the Collapse would have left them feeling like sinners. And I know what eight years of isolation away from Joseph can do to a person's faith. He'll never have the numbers he wanted, much less the numbers he had before the Collapse."

Nick knows that most of the people standing here are never going to forgive him. They're never going to forgive John, either, and one day they might come back expecting the worst from Nick's bad decision. But at least for now, John's honesty seems true enough to reassure the best of them. Everett hasn't left to get his gun yet, anyway, and Katrina hasn't tried to burst through the crowd and flay John alive. That's something, anyway, right?

"What if you're wrong?" Sharky asks. He still looks pissed, but his arms are crossed defensively over his chest and he doesn't look willing to start a fight right now. "Not saying I believe you," he adds, just in case anyone had any doubts. "But if I  _ did _ ."

John doesn't hesitate. "If I am, kill him. Of course, his followers will martyr him, so you'll have to kill them as well." He clenches his jaw for a moment, as though he doesn't want to say it, and then admits, "Anyone who would follow Joseph now has to be completely devoted to him. They'll take any outside aggression as a reason to attack. If you move on Joseph, you'll have to be willing to exterminate the whole group."

"That sounds like a whole lotta work," Hurk points out pragmatically.

"Sure sounds like you're telling us to let Joseph do whatever he wants," one of his biker pals adds. It's also a pragmatic observation, but Nick has no doubt it's meant as an accusation. "We show up here and find out John Seed is still alive, and he's telling us to just  _ leave it alone _ , and you want us to believe you're not  _ part _ of all of it?"

Nick doesn't realize at first that the guy is talking to  _ him _ . "Are you kidding me?" Nick asks. "Are you forgetting who shot this sorry fuck out of the sky? He tried to rip the pride right outta me —"

"And yet here you are, defending him!"

"Of course I'm defending him! Nobody else is gonna do it!"

With his blood about ready to boil, it's a good thing that Kim arrives before Nick says something stupid. He's not sure when she rejoined the group, but now she cuts in front of the strangers in their home, resting a hand on his shoulder as she steps up beside him. He grabs it immediately, maybe a little too tightly, but he can't afford to lose his cool any more than he already has.

"I know, it's a lot to handle," she says. "It's been a lot for us, too. But Nick is telling you all the truth. It has nothing to do with the cult. We aren't being manipulated, and we aren't trying to betray anyone. Nick found him when he needed help, and we helped him. It's as simple as that."

She offers them an apologetic smile. "Things after the bombs have been hard on all of us. But the past still haunts me. It's been almost ten years and I still have nightmares about it. I want this world to be better than the last one, but there's still so much of me left back there. When Nick found John, I thought — I thought we might not be done, honestly. I felt the same way you all feel now. But then I thought, maybe if somebody like John could change, then maybe that meant better for me. For all of us."

Hurk, frowning heavily, crosses his arms over his chest as Sharky slowly uncrosses his. "You really wanna put that much hope on  _ that _ guy?" he asks.

"Well — yes," Kim admits. "I know that maybe it doesn't seem like enough — I know it doesn't seem like enough to him — but John  _ has _ been trying. And I can't afford to give up on anybody who wants to be better than the person they were."

Nick realizes that Clark has disappeared from the group. The family from the Honda is nowhere to be seen either; Mary Hall is standing at the back porch with her hands on her son's shoulders while Carmina stands next to them.

For a moment, the silence between the two sides seems insurmountable, and Nick worries that they might have to be ready to move or otherwise defend their home from an angry mob. But eventually, after a few tortuously long seconds have gone by, Sonny Hall comes to a decision.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter what happens in Hope County anymore," he says, scratching his chin. "Only time will tell if we'll have to deal with Eden's Gate in California. Still... Might be best if we get moving sooner, all things considered."

"Guess we're getting out while the getting's good," Merit tells Katrina, who looks like she still wants to pick a fight, even with a wide-open escape at her back. "Don't worry, nothing from this podunk piece of shit is gonna affect anything, ever!"

Katrina stares at John like she's memorizing a mortal enemy. "You better hope not," she tells him, although she looks at Nick when she says it.

Sharky doesn't move as the group begins to retreat, leaving Hurk to awkwardly stop some feet behind and wait for him. He stares at Nick like he doesn't recognize the ugly thing he sees standing there.

"It was a real low blow, bringing the deputy into this," he says. "You know that."

For the first time today, Nick feels truly guilty. True or not, throwing anything Rook-related in Sharky's face is definitely a low blow. "Yeah," he says. "I shouldn't have done that."

Deflating at Nick's apology, Sharky scowls in John's direction before eyeballing the Ryes. "Lucky for you, I like Kim," he says at last, sniffing dismissively. "Otherwise, we'd have a real problem here."

"Thank you, Sharky," Kim replies. "Be safe, okay?"

Nodding reluctantly, Sharky turns to join his and Hurk's small gang. Nick watches them all go, unable to decide whether or not that was the best possible outcome, or simply the least bloodthirsty. He can't help but worry who they're going to tell  _ what _ , but at this point, it's out of his hands.

"I'll go get Carmina," Kim says after a brief silence. "It might be better if they don't see us before they leave."

"I'll do it," Jerome says. He breaks away somewhat guiltily, but Nick can tell that he wishes he could join the caravan right now and get as far away from this mess as possible. Hell, after the way things went today, he still might try.

It's only once Jerome is gone that John speaks, struggling to keep his voice from shaking. "It's not really over," he says, "It can't be."

"Well, we'll have to go through that a couple hundred more times," Nick points out, "But... I mean, yeah. It's over. Sorry I wouldn't let them flog you or anything."

It's probably too early to joke, but he manages to draw a sigh from John, which is better than nothing. He's saved from having to respond as Carmina jogs across the yard, bouncing from foot to foot once she comes to an antsy stop in front of them.

"Is everything okay?" she asks. "They're all leaving!"

"Everything is fine," Kim tells her. "They want to get some distance before night-fall, that's all. Did you have any luck trading with Liam?"

Kim distracts Carmina from the escaping caravan by talking about her new book, as well as some potential ways to find new reading material. Nick and John both remain in the same spots that they'd defended themselves from, until the last car rumbles out of the drive and Jerome reappears on the back porch.

"What now?" John asks.

"I dunno," Nick replies. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1: yes, it's a new vegas reference; 2: no, i haven't thought of a better title yet; and 3: this chapter [also has art](https://foxtophat.tumblr.com/post/620486028659146752/kiichu-its-only-once-jerome-is-gone-that-john)! kiichu is out of this world and commissioned a piece from ziorre in honor of john not being murdered by a bloodthirsty mob! i don't have anything coy to say, i'm just in love with these three pieces. where's the third? well, go on, go find out!)


	11. Post-Traumatic Wind-Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to fall into place, and a new normal begins to form. Also, Hurk and Sharky say they have moonshine and malt liquor, but I don't know if I would trust them.

The next three days are marked by a surprising peace. Nick had suspected that once the cat got out about John, they would be fielding a flurry of calls, or maybe even some in-person confrontations, but so far they've been left completely alone. Maybe telling people on their way _out_ of the county has something to do with that. Maybe they'll need to wait for Hurk and Sharky to come back and spread the news if Jerome's decided not to do it himself. Nick's not sure if that's even what he _wants_ , but it feels like the inevitable next step. Eventually, if the community is going to come together, the cat's gonna have to get out of the bag.

John is just as nervous than before, although it only shows whenever they hear distant engines or a far-off gunshot. The night after the caravan, he and Jerome spend a full thirty minutes on the radio, but it only makes him more pensive and reserved. Nick wouldn't mind so much if Carmina weren't also acting bummed out — sure, she's just upset that she lost a friend before she could make one, but it still sucks to see his daughter acting as morose as John.

At least Kim's optimism hasn't been phased. She's been determined to look at the situation from every positive angle available, and none of Nick's uncertainty has put a hamper on it. She rallies them all for a second day-trip down to the river, hell-bent on cheering each and every one of them. It's a day of sunlight and clear water, and the fish are jumping like mad. It must be spawning season, or something, because the suckers are easy pickings.

The nice weather and the easy fishing both do wonders for Carmina's mood, which is becoming more and more fickle every day. Nick dozes in and out with a rod in hand, and although John spends most of the time staring at the water, he touches base with reality once in a while. Mostly just when Kim includes him in conversation, but it's still enough.

It's... nice. Nick doesn't know the last time he felt so relaxed. He doesn't think that memory exists anymore, lost to time like so many other positive thoughts, but he's enjoying the reminder to relax his shoulders and turn off his anxious brain for a few minutes. With the sunshine just as warm as ever and the water a bright, nearly unnatural blue, Nick figures all they need is an umbrella and some beach towels to drive the point home. Hell, at this point, they might as well claim this as their private waterfront.

* * *

Grace shows up after breakfast the next day, ready to take Carmina for some target practice at her range. She isn't strictly _speaking_ to Nick yet, but she keeps it cordial, even friendly with Kim. Maybe Jerome talked with her, or maybe she came to accept the situation on her own, who knows. Either way, Grace ignores the sight of John out on the back porch and treats Carmina to a genuine smile when she comes downstairs, rifle in hand. Finally, three-quarters of the year later, the situation with Grace has _finally_ returned to normal, taking one more weight off of Nick's shoulders.

She promises to have Carmina back before sundown. She also promises to leave her radio on, just in case. Nick knows what she means by _just in case_ , but he can't say no to the added security.

Nick retreats out back, letting Kim have some time with Grace without the awkward tension of his presence. John pointedly refuses to look at him, sorting through a box of components as though he hasn't already picked it apart.

It isn't until after Grace and Carmina leave that Nick remembers he _has_ an out — well, now it's just a regular chore. He's got to deal with the so-called freezer in the hangar, which is full of fish and sucking up all the fuel for the generator. Either he has to make it viable to use long term, or they're going to be shit out of luck for food preservation beyond salting and pickling.

From the look on his face, John wishes Nick would ask for his help, but Kim has already called on him to help harvest the last of the spring planter, so he's shit out of luck there. Nick doesn't have any damn sympathy for John — gardening is boring, and Nick will do anything to avoid it, especially something as easy as throwing John under a bus.

So, the good news is that the freezer still turns on. Nick hadn't expected much after finding it under part of the collapsed roof, but it hasn't shorted out once since they hooked it up to the generator about a week ago.

The bad news is that it's not a good use of power at all. The rubber seal is nearly worn off, so it keeps losing coolness, and there's definitely a coil burnt out or _something_ in there because it barely manages to keep its temperature lower than the air around it. Sure, maybe it'll come in handy around _winter_ , but that's not going to help them with summer around the corner.

As it is, Nick's only sure that the fish from yesterday are still good. There's a covered pot of stew underneath that they put in after the caravan left, which is probably fine, too... but Nick wouldn't put money on the rabbit they put in at the start. After all, it hadn't been all that fresh to begin with, and it's been wrapped in cloth for a little too long.

Well, maybe once they get some chickens and find a post-apocalyptic appliance repair center, it'll be worth being the energy sink that it is. For now, Nick has to figure out what to do with these goddamn fish and the leftover stew from the other night. It's their own damn fault, thinking they'd still have company after revealing John, but that doesn't change the amount of food they have on hand.

At least when Grace comes back, they'll have something to repay her with, although Nick isn't sure she's willing to eat any of their food yet. She'd been okay about seeing John in the backyard, relatively speaking, but there's no way she actually believes any of the progress being made. And as much as Nick would like to tell her that her distrust is unwarranted, he can't exactly tell her how to feel. It's just gonna have to take time, and she's going to need a different kind of proof than Nick.

They aren't expecting any visitors, so the sound of engines on approach shakes Nick out of his thoughts and puts him on immediate high alert. He can't make out the number of vehicles, but it sounds like a goddamn posse, which _can't_ be good. When he goes out into the yard to check on Kim, he finds her missing; John is the only one standing there, waiting nervously by the planters and looking for any sign to bolt.

"Stay here," Nick tells him as he approaches, heading straight for the front.

"Yes, I _know_ ," John snaps, but Nick isn't going to stop to argue with him. He slows his anxious jog as he comes around the side of the house, catching sight of Hurk's motorcycle through the trees coming down the drive. Kim is standing in the front yard, arms loosely folded over her chest; she looks cautiously excited for the company, although neither of them are sure if this is strictly a social call. Nick sure hopes it is — he's not sure they could hold their own against a group with an RPG and a whole lot of crazy.

Hurk kills his engine once he sees they've got an audience, leaving his bike with the others in the drive. The big, blissed-out guy and the smaller, wild-card one stay on their bikes, while Sharky talks to somebody sitting on his ATV briefly before following his cousin's tracks.

Kim greets them with a warm smile as they come up. "Hey, you guys. We weren't expecting you to stop by again."

"We radioed ahead," Sharky grouses. "But nobody answered."

"Sorry, I wasn't near the receiver. We've been out back all day."

Hurk pulls off his sunglasses with a dramatic flair. "Yeah, I figured it was something like that," he says, with a tone that implies Sharky had a different theory, one Nick imagines involves John staging some sort of coup. "Well, whatever, we're here now!" Looking around coolly for a second, Hurk realizes he still needs to explain himself and bashfully elaborates, " _Somebody_ oughtta know we got back alright, so we can get hired out again and whatnot..."

"Everything cool?" Sharky asks. He makes no effort to hide how he's looking for a fire that he can blame on John. Well, at least he's trying to find a good reason to beat John up this time.

"I should be asking you that," Kim counters, wearing a smile that's enough to disarm Sharky's gruff posturing. "How far did you get?"

"We hit Great Falls before we figured any further was a one-way trip. They're probably past Missoula if they kept up the clip."

"And how'd everything look?" Nick asks. "I mean, relatively speaking."

Sharky shrugs. "A whole lot of the same," he replies. Hurk rolls his eyes in his cousin's direction, fixing him with an annoyed stare that eventually wears Sharky out. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he opens up semi-reluctantly. "It wasn't the, uh... wild wasteland I was expecting. Lots of empty land and road stops. Some friendly, some... uh, not so much. But that group can handle it."

Nick is happy to agree, and not just to placate Sharky. "Yeah," he says. "Hope County breeds tough people."

"Did you guys pick up somebody along the way?" Kim asks, having just done a headcount of the remaining posse. Nick remembers the two on their bikes; the new guy, he remembers from the third car, quiet and quick to leave but otherwise unmemorable.

"Oh, that's Mud," Sharky says, pointing at the three who probably can't hear much over the rumbling engines. "He was with the caravan, but he changed his mind." Sharky's chest puffs up as he confidently tells them, "He's ridin' with _us_ now."

"That's great!" Kim exclaims. She's genuinely excited by the news and the chance to socialize, and the effect of her positivity is hard to fight. Sharky can't help but smile back, even if he's trying to act tough, rubbing his hands together as he casts another approving glance back at his gang.

"Are you going to do anything to celebrate?" she asks.

"Not much to celebrate, he's kind of a nerd."

"Come on," Kim laughs. "You left home and came back with more people than you started with. I think most people these days would count that as a win." She rubs her hands together, looking briefly at Nick and suggesting, "We could have a fish fry?"

"Hey, that's an idea," Nick replies. "We caught some bass yesterday and they're just gonna get composted if we don't do something with them."

"I dunno about that," Sharky says, cutting off Hurk just before he can excitedly agree.

Kim presses her hands together. "Come on, stay," she pleads with a smile. "At least let us feed you. When's the last time you had something more than jerky and booze?"

"Well..." Sharky trails off uncertainly.

"Kim's right," Nick cajoles. "We got plenty to spare."

"Grace is going to be back with Carmina in a few hours," Kim adds. "I'm sure she'd be glad to see you guys."

Sharky rubs his beard, looking back at their waiting posse. "Grace, huh?" he repeats. He trades a few unsubtle glances with Hurk before finally turning back to Kim and Nick. "Yeah, that should be okay. Except — ah, shit. We promised Wallace and Tiny we'd start doing things democratically now that we won't keep tying over everything. Hold on, gotta go confer with the boys."

They only spend a minute talking it over before the two motorcycles kill their engines, which is all the confirmation Nick needs to know they're hosting company. "I'll go tell John," he tells Kim under his breath. "Somebody should give him a heads up before Sharky punches him again."

Kim sends him off with a pat on his shoulder as he heads for the backyard. John is still waiting by the planters, although he's staring longingly for the safety of the hangar. Nick can't blame him — he's still sporting a dark and noticeable bruise from the last time Sharky socked him. Hopefully, seeing his lingering handiwork will satisfy Sharky, otherwise, John might wind up with a matching set.

"Sharky and Hurk are back," Nick says. John doesn't exactly relax, but knowing he doesn't have to prepare for another ugly reintroduction keeps him from bolting. "They're, uh, gonna stick around until Grace gets back."

"Then I probably shouldn't be around," John replies.

"What, you wanna go hide all night?" Nick rolls his eyes. "No, don't be a baby. Worst that'll happen is you'll get knocked down again." John doesn't look convinced, so Nick tries another route. "Come on, we went through all that just so you wouldn't _have_ to hide out every time we have company. And people are gonna have to get used to you eventually — at least Sharky and Hurk already know you're alive." Finally, when none of that seems to work, he sighs and promises, "I'll make sure nobody decks you for no good reason, c'mon."

John finally relents, sighing and gesturing vaguely. "Fine," he says, "Whatever you say."

And, even though Kim isn't around to force him to it, John sits back down at the planter and resumes pulling carrots. It's probably entirely out of spite, but at least it keeps him busy while the posse of would-be raiders filters into the backyard. Nick stands awkwardly at first as Wallace and Tiny stare aggressively at John's back, but when Kim rounds out the group and nobody takes a shot at either of them, he forces himself to ease up on the suspicion. From here on out, Nick is going to try his damnedest to act like everything is absolutely normal. Well, as normal as it can be.

Kim has Sharky talking from the outset, which makes it easy for him to avoid acknowledging John at all. It helps that she's genuinely interested in what he's been up to since they last saw each other — other than open-channel conversations on the radio, the Ryes haven't seen them since the world ended. With only one car and not a lot of fuel, they haven't had a chance to go exploring the east side of the county since climbing topside.

As it turns out, Sharky and Hurk have shacked right back up at the old trailer park. They'd met up with Wallace and Tiny sometime after coming topside, and right now the four of them are in the middle of making the park more hospitable. Sharky keeps mentioning a reception area, and Hurk says something about expanding the lot, so Nick suspects they're looking to cash in on the heretofore abandoned hospitality industry.

For now, though, it's just home to four wildcards and one multi-use distillery made from old airplane parts. "It's pretty much fucked," Sharky says, although truthfully, Nick thinks it sounds kind of badass. "But with enough elbow grease, we'll probably be able to make it livable." He looks around, craning his neck to eyeball the mostly-intact hangar and their secure house, and offers a genuine compliment. "You guys got lucky. No hate, just glad you had somewhere to hole up in. It would suck to really have to rough it with a kid around."

"Tell me about it," Kim agrees emphatically. "Although, it took a lot of work to make it this nice, and there's still a lot more to do."

Sharky and Hurk settling in around the fire-pit is all the invitation their crew needs to make themselves more at home. It's no surprise that they pretend like John isn't there — nor is it a surprise that John returns the favor. It's a little tense and a lot awkward for Nick, but for now it's at least a peaceful holding pattern.

"It sorta sucked, seeing everything as trashed as it is here," Tiny says somewhat morosely. "I mean, at least we ain't alone, but..."

"Hope Valley got the best of it in general," Wallace says. "Right in the sweet-spot. Ideal Collapse."

"He means most everything else got blasted," Tiny clarifies, a sort of post-Bliss interpreter. "You can tell when you leave the county. Eases up after a couple of miles, but there's, like, a big old ring around us."

"No doubt, no doubt," Wallace agrees. "Protecting the good stuff."

"It's pretty fuckin' weird," Hurk says. "But I don't know nothin' about nu-clear thermodynamics and whatnot. Could be normal as the albino deer and shit."

"Uh, you think that the caravan's gonna be okay out there, if everything's just as wrecked?" Nick asks.

"Oh, sure," Hurk drawls. "There were all sortsa people makin' due out there, one way or another. They'll be _fine_."

Sharky sighs, opens his mouth, then thinks better of whatever he was going to say and changes course. "They made it pretty clear they would be happier without help," he says. "Hope that works out for them. Me? I'm ride-or-die Hope County. At least 'til Hurk here goes international again. Then, uh, I guess I'm gonna be ride-or-die Miami."

"Hell yeah!" Hurk shouts. "Gonna get the business back _in_ business, y'know what I mean? First stop: check in on mama and Xander. Second stop: top of the world, baby!"

The posse rallies around Hurk's promise with excited whoops. Nick doesn't know what Hurk's job was before the apocalypse, but considering the contraband he used to get his hands on, it's probably something that will only flourish here in the apocalypse.

"'Course, she's probably dead," Hurk adds somewhat morosely at the end, sort of ruining the whole vibe.

Sharky slaps his shoulder a few times out of sympathy. "Don't know 'til we go lookin'," he says, which manages to prop Hurk's mood back up for the time-being. "Anyway, we got a whole slew of islands and mountains and shit to explore once we get established. Spending the rest of my life riding around Montana sounds like a waste of a good apocalypse, if you ask me."

The new guy, Mud, looks more confused than Nick about these future plans. "So, what'd they offer you for joining up?" Nick asks him. "Ten-percent of Boshaw-Drubman LLC?"

Startled, Mud shakes his head frantically. "No way. Uh-uh." Bashfully, he says, "I just, uh... got cold feet. But I don't got much out here, not since the, uh..." He glances past Nick, definitely eyeballing John, then swallows and edges around the truth. "Well, um, Sharky let me ride back, on account of the — well, uh, I didn't wanna get left behind either direction. And since I don't got anything, I offered to join up." He frowns, "Except I don't have a bike, or gas for a bike, or a gun, or bullets _for_ a gun..."

"I told you," Sharky scolds like a mother hen, "We'll figure that shit out later."

"It's smart to stay together," Kim says when Mud fails to pick back up again. "It's what we should all be doing. Does that mean you're staying with them at the trailer park?"

Mud nods, while Tiny goodnaturedly jokes, "Not that there's much left to stay at..."

Sharky is quick to defend their home, even if he doesn't sound super convinced by his own argument. "Hey, we just haven't had time to, y'know, clean and all! We've been busy, man, you know that! Gathering ammo, building the still, _brewing_..."

"Would be nice to have a roof over our heads, that's all," Tiny laughs.

"Where do you want me to go, the _roof store_?"

The argument is mostly playful, but Nick knows it's only a matter of time before that playful resentment becomes real. Hurk already looks bored by the ribbing, which tells Nick a lot about how long this joke has been running. Even John is paying attention, although Nick only catches an uncomfortable backward glance.

It's a contentious problem for the gang, for sure. But Nick doesn't have to reach far to come up with an easy solution, one that he figures will benefit everybody involved. After all, even considering their own needs, they've got more than enough spare scrap to spare, and Hurk and Sharky's goodwill comes with guns and alcohol, so...

"You know," he says, "John and I found a lot of scrap cleaning this place up. Maybe you can use what we can't."

Sharky opens his mouth to say something, probably pretty rude, but he catches himself before he gets that far. "Wouldn't want to put you out like that," he mutters.

"Hey, we're all in it together, right?" Gesturing towards John, who looks like he'd rather fade back into the dirt around him, Nick offers a sort-of compromise. "We've been trying to figure out what to do with the surplus. This seems like a better use than anything we came up with."

"Well, I guess it couldn't hurt," Sharky admits reluctantly.

Kim recognizes the need for some decisive action, and so she claps her hands together and takes the reins from her grateful husband. "Nick, you and John should take Hurk to look at what we've got. Then, all three of you can bring some wood back so we can get the fire started."

Sharky opens his mouth to object, but Hurk speaks up before he can. "Sounds good!" he exclaims, throwing himself to his feet with ease. Nick can't help but envy him — the guy's got twenty years on him, but Nick doesn't hear _his_ knees popping randomly when he stands up.

"Y'all don't go startin' trouble," he warns his gang, waving Nick on. "Let's do it!"

John turns and heads immediately for the hangar door, disappearing inside without a backwards glance. Hurk lingers once they reach the door, casting a wide look around the empty wash of dirt leading out to the old landing strip before following John inside. He doesn't seem concerned in the slightest that John might be waiting to ambush him.

"Sorry about Sharky, by the way," Hurk says once the three of them are standing in the shade of the tarp overhead. "He's been real stressed is all, tryin' to act all fuckin' responsible and shit. John here making it after the deputy beefed it just hit hard, I guess."

Well, if that's the way Hurk's been referring to it, then no _wonder_ Sharky's sensitive about it. "It's, uh. It's fine. We figured there'd be some... y'know. Reasonable resentment."

John does that thing where he pretends he can't hear he's being talked about, going straight to the log pile stacked against the back wall. Hurk doesn't seem to notice the silent treatment, turning to the organized junk spread out over the cracked concrete. From broken two-by-fours, bent fence-poles, chainlink scraps, and stacks of not-quite-moldy plywood, there's gotta be _something_ here that can help fix up the trailer park. Nick makes sure to highlight the best scrap for Hurk's consideration, although he avoids mentioning their surplus of nails and stripped screws for now. No use showing his _whole_ hand, right?

"Damn," Hurk says at last, looking around in mild astonishment. "Can we hire y'all to do this to _our_ scrap?"

Nick laughs. "Yeah, like I wanna do all this _again_."

"What about you?" Hurk asks John's back, ignoring the way he tenses at being directly addressed. "How do we rent _you_ out?"

"You don't," John says, his tone briefly icing over as he turns, regarding them coolly over his armful of logs. He's more petulant than angry when he explains, "I don't owe you my life, so I don't owe you my labor."

"Fine, I'll just save you from a burning building or some shit," Hurk replies, as if he couldn't care less that it's John Seed he's bantering with. "I guess we gotta talk trading, now," he sighs reluctantly. "Man, I fuckin' hate this barter-system bullshit. You know, actually, I got a box full of bottle caps if you wanna..."

Nick waves away the extremely bad offer to invest in an unbacked currency. "Hey, don't worry about it," he says. Hurk frowns heavily at that, so Nick suggests a compromise. "Look, if you and Sharky wind up with your own microbrew, you owe me a case — and yes, I _will_ take payment in installments. That sound fair?"

" _If_ ?" Hurk replies. He lets out a big laugh. "Buddy, I got news for _you_."

Hurk, John and Nick each take an armful of wood back to the fire pit, where Kim seems to have everything under control. Sharky is less openly hostile when John reappears, anyway, which is a good sign. Mud and Tiny have apparently been given fire-starting duty, jumping to the task as soon as they drop off the wood. Sharky, a true pyromaniac, manages them from his seat by shouting directions at them as they stack the wood in the pit.

Before they can sit back down, Kim turns Nick and John back around for the fish. It's a one-person job, but John doesn't complain about being sent away.

"You okay?" Nick asks John when they reach the freezer.

"Yes," John replies automatically. Nick stares at him for a solid five seconds before he cracks with a frustrated sigh. "I'm just a little _overwhelmed_. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"Sure," Nick agrees. He picks up the old bin they've been using to cart fish back from the river. "You can stick around here for a bit if you want. Take a breather."

John scoffs at the idea of taking a break, as per usual. "I thought the point was not to hide," he replies tersely. He reaches out to yank the cracked plastic container from Nick, a frustrated and instinctive reaction that he curbs at the last moment, fingers curling briefly into a fist as he forces himself not to just take things from Nick.

Taking pity on the dumb bastard, Nick pushes the bin into John's arms, flipping open the freezer door and staring down at the slimy, not-yet-smelly fish. "Well, if you need a _break_ , just say you're gonna get more firewood." Nick shrugs. "Someone's gotta check on you eventually, but Kim knows the drill."

John doesn't respond as Nick loads up the bin, but Nick hopes he takes the out to heart. There's not a social obligation out there that Nick hasn't gotten out of by dedicating himself to some dumbass chore nobody else wants to do.

They return to find a roaring fire that is... _hopefully_ under control. The mismatched seating has been pulled back to accommodate the fire's larger-than-average size, accompanied by a couple of chairs from inside to make up the difference. Sharky and Mud have disappeared, although they return just after Nick, each carrying a variety of bottles and jars of different sizes.

"Shit, I didn't think you brought the entire brewery with you!" Nick exclaims, not in the least bit upset by the development.

"Not until you clean all those up," Kim says before Nick can get ahead of himself. "You don't want to be handling a knife right after a shot of... whatever _that_ is."

Nick groans, but she's right. As much as Nick would _like_ to get drunk off his ass on torpedo juice, he has to get his priorities straight. Still — there's a lot more fish than Nick's willing to handle by himself, so he enlists a willing Wallace and Tiny to help out. He picks them mostly because they're openly carrying hunting knives, and because John is just plain _bad_ at deboning fish. John stares at him resentfully, but since he hates handling food as much as he hates gardening, Nick's sure he'll get over it before dinner.

* * *

Nick doesn't have much control over the food once it's been cleaned, as Sharky and Hurk have some kind of bet going about who's the better cook and they don't need anybody else throwing their hat in. As far as Nick's concerned, their cooking tastes delicious but indistinguishable. Of course, Nick's waiting for his own dinner, so other than a few bites to try and judge the difference, he doesn't get to eat much of it.

Tiny and Wallace split and down an entire mason jar of mysterious dark liquor while they wait to eat. Nick wants to join them, but Kim's waiting until Carmina is home to start drinking and really, Nick should be doing the same. From the way John's watching distrustfully from the side, he's not likely to get into any moonshine himself.

Nick manages to hold out until after he's finished eating, but then Hurk offers him some moonshine directly and he _can't_ say no. It would be in bad taste, right?

Oof. Turns out the _moonshine_ is in bad taste, but that's what he should expect from something that's easily 120 proof. Nick takes one swig and immediately regrets it as it turns his chapped lips to fire and carries the heat all the way down the back of his throat. There's no taste or anything, just an intense, full-mouth burn and this lizard-brain instinct that everything is going to go _horribly wrong_ if he drinks more of whatever _that_ is.

"Jesus _Christ_ !" he gasps. It's only Hurk's quick reflexes that keep the jar from crashing to the dirt, but Nick doubles down before Hurk can pry it out of his hands. Even as he struggles to form a sentence more complex than, " _Poison_ ," he's got to go back for a second sip. As if somehow a second one would make things better — but of course it doesn't. At least, not to begin with; first, it's gotta turn his shredded lips inside out and throw his tear-ducts into overdrive better than an overripe onion.

"Well don't drink _more_ of it," Kim huffs, way too late.

"Now be honest," Hurk asks, "Can you taste _any_ apple?"

Nick pushes the jar back into Hurk's attentive hands, choking disbelievingly on the word, " _Apple_ ," although now that he thinks about it... No, nope, no after-taste whatsoever. It _does_ , however, warm him from the inside out, leaving him feeling a decent buzz for two conservative swigs.

"Whatever it is," Nick sighs at last, after a big swig of water, "It's great."

"You know," Kim says, "The sooner we put the stew on the fire, the sooner you can eat. Maybe then you could handle more than a couple of baby sips."

Nick clicks his tongue, taking some childish offense at his wife teasing him about his tolerance. At the same time, she's right — and Nick _is_ getting hungry. There's still enough uncooked fish left for when Grace and Carmina get home, but if he wants them to have as much as everyone else, he'll have to settle for the three-day-old stew. At least Kim and John are stuck in the same boat as him.

Before he can get started on that, though, Grace surprises him by returning early with Carmina. Admittedly, it's still pretty late in the afternoon, but he hadn't expected her back so soon. She isn't surprised to find company, which is also a surprise, although she eyes the whole group somewhat distrustfully as she and Carmina round the side of the house. When she sees Hurk and Sharky drinking from their unsanitized brewing bottles, she finally relaxes, letting go of Carmina's shoulder so that she can join the not-necessarily child-safe group.

"Grace!" Sharky exclaims, leaping from his seat and almost grabbing her for a hug before remembering personal boundaries are a thing. "Holy shit, the world literally ended last I saw you!"

Grace returns Sharky's enthusiasm with her more subdued version of it, smiling fondly and following through the rest of the hug for him, the same way she'd grabbed onto Nick and Kim when they'd first come back topside. "Sharky, it's good to see you," she says, her voice deep with emotion.

"I radioed her while you were getting firewood," Kim mentions to Nick as Hurk takes his chance to get a hug from the usually reclusive sniper. "I thought she would appreciate a head's up. And, you know, it cheered Sharky up."

"Hey, good thinking."

Carmina approaches gleefully, carrying the rifle over her shoulder triumphantly. For a nine-year-old, she's pretty natural with the thing, which is a mixed blessing as far as Nick's concerned.

"Aunt Grace made moving targets!" she exclaims, excitement overriding her confusion momentarily until she looks at the group. "I didn't know we were having people over today..."

"It was a happy surprise," Kim tells her. "These are the guys who were helping that caravan heading west, remember?"

"Yeah," Carmina says. She looks immediately to John, who is way too busy staring tensely at Grace and Sharky's reunion to notice her.

"Don't worry," Nick says. "Everything's fine."

"Uh-huh," Carmina says, unconvinced. Thankfully, she doesn't seem too worried about another fight breaking out. That probably has something to do with her attention being focused in an entirely different direction. "Do we have pulleys? I wanna make a shooting range here! It's _really_ easy!"

Nick's gut reaction is to say no, but Kim interrupts him. "Maybe while your dad is getting the stew, he can check," she offers, looking from Carmina to Nick significantly. "Then we can have some dinner and talk about it."

Although it looked like John hadn't been paying any attention before, he stands as soon as Kim mentions going to the hangar. "I remember seeing one," he says.

"You can help me look, then," Nick offers. "Maybe get some more firewood?"

"Yeah," John says absently. Nick barely steps into his line of sight, but that's all he needs, turning and making his way to the hanger down the same invisible path he was glued to before. Nick sighs, rolls his eyes at Kim entirely for show, and follows. Maybe once they get some food in him, John will stop being such a cagey bastard about the whole thing, and they'll be able to actually put things to rest with Grace and Sharky at last.

* * *

When the world ended, Nick had figured that meant the end of life as he knew it. In some ways, he'd been right — things will never be as easy, as safe, as _peaceful_ as they used to be — but when his expectations had been wrong, they'd been completely off-base. He'd expected a nuclear wasteland, only to find a lush and thriving field. He'd expected roving gangs of murderers, and instead, he's only encountered desperate, decent people who would rather not waste the bullets. Hell, he'd expected to spend every day struggling to survive, and here he is, sitting in the backyard with a full belly and a shot of liquor to wind down. Sure, the gathering is a primitive knock-off of a barbeque, but Nick knows now that all they need is time and practice. Maybe someday, they'll even have a grill — burgers, corn on the cob, the whole works.

But hey. That's for the future, and right now, Nick isn't going to complain about some bad liquor, mediocre food and Hurk's stripped-down Slayer's cassette blaring from his beat-up stereo.

Carmina finally gets a chance to show off her skills to people other than her family, and so Hurk's boys take turns calling out targets for her to cap in an attempt to take her down a peg. Nick isn't sober enough to trust his daughter with a gun, but Kim hasn't gone back for another taste of "apple" moonshine yet, and Grace is sober as a rock, so they're more than capable of handling things. Mostly, they nix any particularly dangerous targets, keeping Carmina's shots focused out in the yard. Well, for the _most_ part — neither of them can resist watching Carmina shoot the wind-vane still clinging to the roof, even if it means going right over everyone's heads.

It's all in good fun, of course. And, to their credit, not one of the guys even jokingly suggests taking aim at John as he sits apart from the group. It's a good thing, too — John looks uncomfortable at how good a shot Carmina is. Maybe Nick would be uncomfortable with it too, if he hadn't drunk a bottle-neck's worth of moonshine beforehand.

Nick doesn't have to drink a lot to feel downright tipsy, which is great. Back in the day, he used to like getting buzzed every so often, but he'd given up ever feeling safe enough to get inebriated as another lost memory from yesteryear. This... this is nice. And once the guns get put away, it'll be even nicer.

"I think you might be a better shot than Tipsy over here," Wallace tells Carmina, gesturing towards Tiny, who is indeed too tipsy to be a decent shot at all.

"Only one way to find out!" Tiny shouts, failing to move after his declaration.

"Maybe another time," Kim replies uncertainly. "When alcohol isn't involved?"

"Hey, Carmina," Hurk coos, pulling his battered gun into his lap, "This is a Kalashnikov, you ever shoot off one of these?"

"Ooh, no!"

Grace is much less diplomatic than Kim, cutting him off before he can feed Carmina's excitement any more. "Hurk!"

"What? Oh, uh... she's probably too young for an automatic, huh? What is she, nine? I got a Magnum in my saddlebag..."

It's not long after that they run out of targets, forcing an end to Carmina's demonstration of skill. Kim thankfully takes the gun so that nobody gets hurt, and Carmina spends the next twenty minutes peppering the crew with questions about their guns, their tattoos, their trip out with the caravan, and whether or not they have a moving target range like Grace does. Nick relaxes when he realizes that none of the guys are keen on giving a little girl another weapon, more interested in spinning drunken tall-tales that, truthfully, might be a little too PG for Carmina. At least Grace is listening in to fact-check any of their more problematic bullshit.

John isn't any less tense now that Carmina is disarmed, but Nick's not surprised. Sitting on the opposite side of the fire from everybody else, he might as well be hiding in plain sight. That goes against the entire point, but it's also his modus operandi these days. Normally, Nick would just ignore it, maybe even avoid John on purpose to show him how bad it feels, but tonight calls for a more direct approach.

"Need to get some firewood?" Nick asks him, coming to stand in his line of sight.

John squints up at him around the firelight. "No," he mutters, lying through his teeth before changing the subject. "Carmina has good aim."

"That's all Kim's genes. I'm more of a spray-and-pray kinda guy."

John doesn't quite hide his sarcasm, replying, "You don't say."

Nobody's offered John any liquor yet, he's pretty sure, so Nick holds the bottle out in an easily declined gesture. "Wanna try?" he asks, just in case he's being more subtle than he thinks. "Supposed to take like apples."

John gives the bottle an unimpressed once-over. "I don't think so," he decides, not sounding entirely sure about it. He adds defensively, "My tolerance is shot."

"If you say so," Nick replies, pulling the bottle back. "It's not like I'm gonna peer pressure you. This isn't high school. But, uh, try to relax. If anyone was gonna take a shot at you, they would've done it by now."

"Easy for you to say," John sighs.

It _is_ easy for Nick to say, but he hopes John actually listens to him for once. He's not expecting miracles or anything, but if John's going to stick around, he's going to have to learn how to relax. Well — at least that's _one_ learning curve that everybody is struggling with. Baby steps, right?

Nick leaves John alone for now; maybe he'll warm up into the idea of mending some metaphorical fences before everyone leaves, which would be ideal. For now, Nick goes back to the rest of the group, taking a few more sips as he listens to Carmina start to spin her own tall tales. Now that she's recognized the pattern in all of the stories the adults have been telling — larger-than-life enemies, intimidating names, lots of Foley work — she's attempting to match their vivid stories with a highly interpretive retelling about the turkey she saved her mom from a few months ago. The way she tells it, Nick would've expected the turkey she'd brought back to be at least the size of a car, but if Kim is playing into her part as a damsel in distress, Nick isn't going to ruin things by being the cynic realist.

They trade a few more stories. As they do, Kim takes a few extremely sour drinks of whatever the dark stuff is. She's been on hosting duty all day already, and Nick hasn't done much to help, getting tipsy right away with the rest of the guys like he had. But, with things starting to get late for a family of three, Nick decides it's his time to step up to the task of parenting.

Carmina hasn't had enough life experience to have many stories to share with the encouraging group of drunken manchildren, so once the attention turns to Tiny's story of his first swim after the world ended, Nick uses the out as a chance to usher her away.

"I think we oughta get you ready for bed," he tells Carmina, who boos under her breath but doesn't put up a fight, mostly because the story involves lots of nudity that she isn't at all interested in hearing about. Nick can't blame her — he doesn't wanna hear about Tiny almost getting his nuts bit off by a demon fish, either.

"Okay, but I want a good bed-time story," she demands, reasonably enough. Nick doesn't have anything as funny as Hurk's story, or anything as action-packed as Sharky's retelling of the first roadblock they encountered out on the road, but he has to at least try.

The good thing about Carmina not knowing anything about life _before_ is that Nick can stretch some truths without repercussion. So when he tucks Carmina in, he decides to tell her the story of when she was born — this time, though, he doesn't leave out the roadblocks, or the deputy's shitty driving, or the narrowly-missed explosions. Couched in a long line of tall tales and exaggerated stories, Carmina doesn't believe most of the true stuff and only playfully believes in the bullshit.

Between Nick's bedtime-story voice and him gently stroking her hair, it's a wonder Carmina stays awake for as long as she does. Eventually, though, well before he finishes the story, she closes her eyes and finally stops resisting the chance for a good night's sleep. Nick stays put, lying next to her for a few minutes as he listens to the faint sound of conversation outside. He tries to make out the voices, to decipher who might be talking to who, but he only hears a dull hum.

He'll get up in a few minutes, go down and have a real drink with his wife for the first time in nine years, but the alcohol he's already had entices him to lie still just a little longer.

He doesn't know how long he dozes for, but when Nick is next aware of his surroundings, the light has changed in the room from the rising moon and the conversation outside has shifted in tone and pitch, the way any party might as it enters the late-night phase. Sitting up, Nick immediately knows he needs two things — more water, and one or two more swigs of that awful moonshine, just to keep the hangover from starting before he actually goes to bed.

The back porch is still wide open. The fire has died down, although it's still enough light to see by as Nick reappears. Kim sees him immediately, lifting a half-empty jar of dark liquid in his direction and waving him down with her free hand.

"This one is much better," she tells him as he approaches, holding out the jar. Well, Nick isn't about to reject his wife's kind offer, although he immediately regrets it when he takes a swig.

" _Ugh_ ," he chokes around the harsh burn, feeling it drain all the way back into his throat. "That tastes like paint thinner!"

"Trade secret!" Hurk exclaims, adding immediately after, "Not that there's any paint or thinner in there, or anythin'. Nope. It's 100% organic malt liquor!"

Nick has no idea how Hurk would manage to find barley, but sure, he'll buy it. Another sip doesn't do any better, and to his surprise, he realizes that he actually _prefers_ the moonshine.

As he hands the jar back, Nick does a quick head-count, coming up two short. "Uh, where's John?" he asks.

"Oh," Kim says. She points towards the hangar. "We needed firewood," she says. "Except, eventually, we really _needed_ firewood. I sent Sharky to get some." It seems like only when she says it does she realize what a bad idea it is. "Well, we were in the middle of something, and I was distracted," she explains reluctantly.

"I wasn't," Grace utters next to her.

Kim rolls her eyes. "You should go check on them. I mean, it's fine. But maybe you should, anyway."

Nick looks over at the hangar. There aren't any lights to speak of out here, but Nick can see the glow of the lantern through the open doorway, shadows moving around behind the worn-out wall. "Yeah," he agrees, turning and heading across the wash. He only thinks of grabbing a drink for the journey after he starts walking, but he's already halfway there and he doesn't have time to turn around and come back.

Sharky appears in the doorway, forcing Nick to pull up short to avoid running into him. He looks — fine? There's too much beard and too little light to see his expression clearly, but Sharky doesn't seem phased in the least to find Nick in his way. He passes by Nick with a few logs under one arm, patting Nick heavily on his shoulder with his free hand.

"It's cool, bro," he says, "We're all good."

"Uh... okay," Nick replies, deeply unsure as Sharky casually heads back for the fire. Briefly worrying that he might find John knocked out on the ground, Nick tries not to stress out as he heads inside.

John is sitting on a discarded chopping block by the woodpile, the lantern settled by his feet. Nick doesn't see any blood or a new black eye; just John, rolling a nearly-empty glass bottle between his palms as he drifts in thought.

Nick almost feels bad interrupting, but John catches sight of him before he can retreat undetected. He looks surprised — genuinely, openly surprised to see Nick standing there, sincerely confused when he says, "I thought you went to bed."

"And miss out on all the action?" Nick chuckles. He gestures at the bottle. "So much for your tolerance being shot, huh?" he teases.

"Oh, hmm?" John looks down at the bottle like he'd forgotten about it. "Only enough to get them off my back." He sighs, following it up with a swig that he barely winces through. "After all, saying no _ain't my thing_." Nick isn't sure if that drawl is for sarcastic quotation purposes, or if John's had enough moonshine to play at being white trash. "Then again, I only quit drinking because of Joseph. No point resisting now."

"I guess," Nick agrees reluctantly. "Is that, uh, what you and Sharky were talking about?"

John rolls his eyes. "No," he says. He holds out the bottle, waiting until Nick takes it to elaborate. "Kim suggested they sleep out here tonight. He was making sure there's room."

"Oh." Nick takes a drink; maybe it's just the malt liquor talking, but now Nick can sort of taste the apple around the burn. He takes one more swig, just to make sure, then hands the bottle back. "Well, as long as he wasn't hassling you."

"No more than I deserve," John says. Nick must make some kind of face, because he sighs and placating adds, "It's fine, Nick. I'm more than capable of handling a few sarcastic comments from some hillbilly outlaw." He looks down, tipping the bottle a bit to swirl the moonshine inside.

"He... means well," he says eventually. "Everyone means well."

"You don't have to sound so bummed out about it."

John chuckles. It's the first time Nick's heard his laugh and not mistaken it for a cough or wheeze. "I don't mean to be," he says. He takes a drink and looks up at Nick with a... weird look on his face. Open. Genuine? Nick's not sure. But despite the topic, John's expression radiates a deep, contemplative peace. "It's more generosity than I can bear from people I genuinely thought of as the enemy."

He is _definitely_ drunk. "Oh, boy," Nick sighs, reaching out for the bottle before John drops it or finishes it off himself. "To be fair, uh, it's easier to be nice to you since we won, and all."

"Oh, I do _not_ doubt it." John relinquishes the drink, seemingly aware enough to admit, "I've had more than enough."

"I think everybody's had enough," Nick says, proving his own point by immediately regretting his next swig. "God _damn_ . Okay, well — we should probably get some wood. I gotta feeling those guys are gonna be up for a _while,_ and we wanna keep them happy."

John nods, but he doesn't rise from his spot. "Wait," he says when Nick goes to pass him, so Nick obligingly stops, raising an eyebrow at John's half-lifted hand.

"You have to understand," he says. "I'm not — I don't know how I'm supposed to express my gratitude towards you. With Joseph, with — well, _everyone_ , I've always known how to express my loyalty. I knew what they expected from me, what would make them happy, what... wouldn't. But with you, with Kim... I don't know anything. I feel like a child. I don't know how _that_ makes me feel, other than like an idiot."

He heaves a frustrated, heavy sigh, ducking his head towards his nervously entwined hands. "Just — thank you," he finishes miserably.

"Wow," Nick utters in response. He doesn't know what else to say, really, except the obvious, but he genuinely means it when he replies, "Well, you're welcome. Man, and here I always figured you were playing _me_ for a sap."

John laughs, shaking his head. "Manipulation has never been my strong suit," he admits. "I'm too heavy-handed for that crap. Intimidation and brute force, on the other hand..." He lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank God I was too sick to revel in my self-destruction."

"Yeah, I'm glad I didn't have to shoot you," Nick chuckles. "Sorta would've gone against everything I'm trying to build, you know?"

"I do now," John says. "I only wish I'd realized it before the end of the world."

"Hey, the world hasn't _really_ ended," Nick points out. "There's still a whole left to do." He gestures towards the woodpile. "We can start by making sure Kim doesn't leave me for the raiders giving her free alcohol."

John stands, shaking his head as if he could clear the smile from his face. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, not until they figure out how to brew a decent beer. Kim was going without for the baby. She probably would've murdered me if it meant she could've had a case of Newcastle in the bunker for a few months there."

Then again, she had also been freaking out about the nuclear apocalypse occurring above-ground, so Nick really should cut her more slack.

"You _definitely_ have nothing to worry about," John reiterates. "But fine. No more back-talk."

"Yeah, fat chance of that. C'mon, give me a hand."

Nick leaves the bottle on the chopping block and utilizes John's uncanny strength, loading him up with an armful of wood before taking a few logs for himself, to give the appearance of helping. John doesn't complain, which isn't unusual by itself, but tonight it feels like genuine complacency, not just something he's doing to survive. And when they return to the fire, dropping off the wood for Mud and Tiny to utilize, John doesn't retreat to the safety of the other side of the fire. He instead lingers by Nick, going so far as to play along whenever Kim asks him questions, just to make him feel included. He, unlike Nick, is smart enough to refuse any more of the malt liquor Kim's taken a liking to, but he holds the jar for show from time to time, just to keep Hurk happy. In a weird way, Nick feels like he can actually see John taking those wobbly steps Kim is always hoping to see, and even weirder than that, the anxiety that maybe he's making a mistake fails to manifest, leaving Nick with a warm, fuzzy feeling that could very well be pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the old note had an interesting factoid i'll keep: this chapter was originally going to be about the caravan staying for the night, but as you might have guessed, that didn't pan out. instead, we get to hang out with hurk and sharky and three ocs that i definitely haven't started lowkey obsessing over in my spare time.)


	12. The Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is going fine, until one day it's not. There aren't a lot of options for radio repair after the apocalypse, but John has a solution for that.

Things around the Rye homestead have been pretty good as of late. Eight, nine months ago, Nick never would have expected to see the living room floor again, much less finish even half of the tedious repair work that he's managed to check off his list. The planters are already sprouting with what's going to be an early summer harvest, Carmina's hen-house is ready to go, and they've already bartered off some scrap for moonshine and extra ammunition for Carmina's blooming sharpshooter hobby. The house itself only creaks and groans in heavy winds, and a few additional supports outside have secured the second floor from crashing down in the middle of the night. For an old, blown-out house that's been through nuclear winter, the place is coming back together pretty well. Hell, another couple of years and they might be able to reconnect the septic system, and then they'd _really_ be cooking.

Other people have noticed their good luck, too. Mostly friends, like Grace and Jerome, but the word's spread a bit now about the Rye's generosity, and they've gotten a few good trades out of it, although a lot of them are I-O-U's that maybe won't come to fruition. That's fine by Nick — they don't need the old fencing or the scrap plywood, and there are still two mostly-buried garages out back that could be broken down for some really prime salvage. If people want to give him free use of their future smokehouses or promise to help him find more gas for his truck, then that's more than enough payment. Anyway, that's what Nick tells people when they don't have anything to offer — it isn't like he's going to turn somebody away when they need help.

Of course, not all of their generosity is appreciated equally. John being around doesn't sit well with many of the people who come by, although it's never enough to deter them from doing business with Kim or Nick. There aren't many confrontations, even when John helps Nick load wood into a truck or remains lingering in plain view, although somebody usually has _something_ to say about it. Unless they get really vulgar or violent, Nick usually lets them blow off steam in his and John's direction, and he doesn't take it personally when somebody takes a cheap shot at him for being such a soft-hearted bastard.

Their vitriol usually ends after a few minutes. Most of the time, John can handle it by himself, apologizing genuinely to each person who tries to curse him out. Nick hasn't heard the same regret twice, and even if John doesn't recognize every hateful face, he seems to remember his part in their trauma. It might not be what they want to hear, but John's serious, specific remorse usually puts the fire out of their fight. So far, there's only been two instances where Nick had to call Jerome out to mediate, and neither time resulted in anyone getting shot or knocked out. Sure, John might come out of an altercation with a couple of bruises, but that's usually it.

It stands to reason that something was bound to go wrong at some point. Nick's prepared for all sorts of catastrophes; he's got contingency plans for flooding, wild animals, and even ornery neighbors upset that he let John off so easy. There are a million little things that could go wrong out here, and Nick can only do so much to prepare for every eventuality, but he thinks he's got a pretty good handle on it.

That is, until the radio breaks. It's one thing that Nick hadn't even considered a possibility — they'd left the thing in its box until the apocalypse, and until they left the bunker, it'd barely seen any use at all. And yet, one day Nick tries to confirm a trade and the radio fails to catch anything more than static.

Cheap goddamn made-in-China crap, that's what it is, and that's what Nick tells everyone within earshot as he fiddles uselessly with the knobs. When he turns the radio around to get a look at the connectors, he ignores the stamped metal that reads "MADE IN GERMANY" in favor of hunting down the problem — but that's going to involve unscrewing the back and, well, Nick isn't exactly an electrician. He's not sure the best option here is to dig into the guts of his only radio willy-nilly like. He _could_ go get the user's manual, but it's in a pile of boxes down in the bunker, and Nick _really_ doesn't want to go rooting through trash for it.

Heaving a frustrated sigh that takes all the fight out of him, Nick grabs the flashlight and goes out back to let Kim know what's up. She and John are working in the garden, which used to be something John would avoid at all costs. Now, he doesn't even seem phased to be working in the dirt, barely acknowledging Nick's irritated venting about the broken radio as he pulls weeds. It's only when Nick mentions going into the bunker that he seems to take notice; he tries to be subtle about it, but Nick doesn't miss his head swiveling to stare briefly.

Of course, Nick is so used to John's cagey weirdness about bunkers that he barely notices, too busy complaining to his ever-patient wife. "I'm just gonna grab the manual, maybe see if there were any spare parts in the box we missed. It's not like the thing gets used enough to break!"

Kim looks sympathetic, but she doesn't sound it as she reminds him, "Nick, the radio is ten years old. Even expensive equipment can't last forever."

"If I don't get to sit down and give up whenever I want, then neither does the radio. It's not like we got any _choice_ , here. If we don't have a working radio, we're going to have a bitch of a time reconnecting with everybody. And we've actually started to _build_ something, you know?"

"At least you'll have a diagram to work with, I guess." Kim sighs. "John, have you... do you know where our bunker is?"

John smiles wryly. "I do," he replies.

"Oh, right," Nick sighs. "You probably know where everything is on the property, huh."

" _Knew_ ," John points out. "But yes, that was my job. I was as thorough as I could be." He chews his lip, standing after a thoughtful second. "I know where a lot of bunkers are. If you can't repair the radio... We could look for another one."

"Okay, of course you do." Nick waves for John to follow him, which he does, keeping pace as they head away from the wash, towards the opposite side of the hangar from their normal route. "What makes you think I wanna take a radio from somebody _else_?"

"Not many of the structures put together out here were by any means _safe_." John probably shouldn't sound so blase about it, but the guy's got a point. Doubly so when he continues, "I was suggesting we take one from someone who won't be needing it anymore."

Nick clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Well, it's something to think about," he agrees reluctantly. It sounds a lot like grave-robbing to him, but John's right. It's the smartest option, and somebody's going to have to do it _eventually_. It might be better for everyone if it's them, and not some opportunistic drifter who won't put the resources back into the community.

That's a problem for another day. Right now, Nick leads John around thick tumbleweeds that have gotten caught in the long grass, bringing them up just short of the bunker door. Covered with about two years' worth of dirt but not yet overgrown, the white hatch is only a marginal pain in the ass to pry out of the ground. John waits for Nick to ask for help, only to realize that isn't happening anytime soon, and wordlessly assists in coaxing the rusted hinges to work.

The bunker is dark and smells like a root cellar. Nick sure hopes nothing important molded. They'll have to get down here and clean up soon, before the mildew takes hold and ruins everything.

"Okay," he says, "You just wait here and make sure that thing doesn't close on me."

Nick half-expects some kind of joke about locking him inside, but John only nods obediently, standing a few feet from the opening with his arms folded across his chest. Nick rolls his eyes but does his best to ignore John's unease as he descends into the bunker.

He decides against testing the power — even if the generator down here still has some juice in it, they haven't operated anything in a while and Nick does _not_ want to be engulfed in flames right now. Instead, he clicks on the flashlight and wanders through the narrow space. He doesn't linger on the drawings Carmina left on the wall or the unmade cots, passing by a pile of laundry that'll never get done and heading to the small utility closet in the back.

He finds the box intact, one corner suffering water damage from what looks like a cup of water that nobody ever picked up. Deciding against rooting around for anything else that might be useful, he takes the whole box back out to the ladder, chucking it up out of the hole once he's tackled the lower rungs.

John is trying hard not to show his nerves as Nick pops back up, shoving his hands into his pockets before changing his mind and folding them again over his chest. Bunkers are a tender spot for him, and Nick knows it, so for now he decides not to make a big deal about it. John's too fragile for Nick to be teasing him, even if he refuses to admit it himself.

Pulling the box apart, Nick scavenges the manual and a couple of accessories that he hadn't needed a decade ago and probably doesn't need now. The cardboard is mostly good, so Nick breaks down the box, chucking the useless packaging back into the bunker before foisting the supplies onto John.

Nick gets up and shoves the bunker door until it falls shut on its own weight. "Well, now I gotta spend the rest of my day reading that crap," he says, gesturing to the chunky owner's manual.

"Give it to Carmina," John suggests, "She's desperate for new reading material."

"And give her the chance to become more technologically savvy than me? I'll pass."

Nick spends the next few hours troubleshooting his way through the manual, vengefully ignoring the support hotline numbers plastered on every other page. Even if the service center hadn't been annihilated in a nuclear apocalypse, fat _chance_ Nick would ever lower himself to call.

By dinnertime, Nick is frustrated but satisfied that he knows where the trouble area is. One of two pieces has given out, both designed to be replaced occasionally. On one hand, that's a good thing — it's supposed to be done by novices, which means the manual is painfully clear on the method. On the _other_ hand, there are only going to be so many matching radios out there, and who knows how many will have the same issue?

"It'll be okay," Kim reassures him that night. "Plenty of people get by without a radio, you know."

"That doesn't mean I wanna be one of them," Nick grouses, turning to pin his hopes selfishly on John. "You said there were bunkers around, right? And maybe one of them has a radio we can use?"

"I didn't promise anything," John clarifies, "But that would be my suspicion."

"Maybe it'd be worth it to look. Who knows, we could get lucky."

Kim doesn't look sure about Nick's optimism, but he ignores her skepticism. If nothing else, it'll be good to use John's old cult knowledge to benefit them for once, and that alone puts Nick firmly in the "in favor" group. Even if it turns out to be a waste of time — well, at least they'll have tried everything. For now, Nick can let Kim think up a contingency plan for a no-radio life — Nick is going to rest all of his hopes firmly on the repair plan and hope that it works out.

* * *

Nick wakes up last the next morning, sleeping in an extra half-hour or so before finally peeling his eyelids apart to face the sun. Even as he gets dressed, he feels groggy and slow, dragged down by a long night of forgotten stress dreams. His brain probably spent all night running through every possible outcome of bunker-hunting with John — not that it does any good now, when Nick can't remember any of it.

He isn't the only one who looks like they could use more sleep. Carmina is yawning over her breakfast, eating like a sloth as she processes being awake. The bags under Kim's eyes are darker than normal, too, but she's bright-eyed and dressed for the day.

John is the only one who looks like he's coping with the morning at all, but that's probably because he's been up for a while now. Ever since he's been given free rein, John's sleep schedule has put him as the last one to sleep and the first one to wake. Nick doesn't mind too much, though, since he usually brews up some coffee right before anyone else comes down. He's been arguing with Kim for the last few mornings about going by himself to pull water from the river for the house, but Kim is holding tight to her buddy-system, and John isn't going to convince her to give it up that easily.

From the way Kim looks at Nick as he descends the stairs, they might be arguing about it already today. "What?" Nick asks, "What'd I do?"

"It's not you," Kim says. She gestures across the table at John, who looks like he's been waiting for Nick to come to his defense. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"The radio is the same make as mine," John tells Nick, clearly expecting Nick to understand what he's talking about. Fat chance there, though, because Nick has no idea what he means. "It might not be the same model, but it's worth a try."

"Uh... which radio are you talking about, exactly?"

John tries hard to not look like he's suffering at the hands of fools. He fails, but at least he directs his exasperated look towards the ceiling at the last moment. "In my bunker," he explains slowly. "I had a radio of the same make."

"You said yourself it broke," Kim points out, clearly repeating an argument from before Nick's arrival.

"All the more reason to not worry about scrapping it," John replies. "The bunker is closer than any other structure, and it's guaranteed to be there. That is as much of a blessing as you'll get these days."

Nick wonders at first why Kim is so dead-set against going back to John's bunker. Sure, the guy refuses to talk about it, and _sure_ , bunkers in general seem to fill him with unshakable anxiety, but it's still just a _bunker_. A bunker with a radio that could save their asses, where they won't be stealing from someone who might need it just as much. And hell, John doesn't even have to go inside!

Kim sighs and says gently, "I just don't know if it's... the greatest idea." She looks sideways at Nick, who knows from experience that she's holding back her opinion for John's benefit. She probably doesn't want to be the one telling him he's too fragile to handle it.

"I'm not asking for your permission," John says. "If neither of you want to come with me, I'll go by myself."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Kim huffs, "Not this again —"

"If I want to go somewhere, I have the right to do so," John exclaims. "We've established that I'm not a _prisoner_ , and I certainly am not a _child_."

Carmina huffs loudly, but John pointedly ignores her.

"Okay, okay," Nick says, holding out his hands in a poor attempt to placate all parties. "Look, if you're really dead-set on this, and you _really_ think that the radio's gonna help, well..." He sighs. "Then maybe it's worth going to check out."

Kim looks mildly offended that he's taking John's side, but Nick knows how to reassure her, at least a little. "But there are some ground rules," he says. "You can come with me, but I call the shots. No acting like you know better than me, or deciding to run off and forcing me to follow you. You get it?"

"Of course," John says.

"I mean it. If I decide it's not worth it when we get there, you're gonna have to respect that. I mean, there could be snakes living in there now. I don't even remember if I closed the hatch, it could be flooded from the rain earlier this year."

John nods, so quickly that Nick wonders if he's really listening. "Yes," he says. "That's fair."

"I can't believe this," Kim sighs, relenting at last as she rubs her forehead. "Okay. But you both need to be careful." She looks at John. "Especially you."

"I don't..." John cuts himself off, reluctantly changing tactics. "Okay. Fine." He stands up, leaving his chair wide open for Nick to take as he says, "I need to get ready," and excuses himself. What he needs to get ready for when he's already dressed, Nick has no idea, but that's not exactly Nick's problem. If John needs to go talk himself through the decision _he_ forced on Nick, then it's a good thing he's not involving Nick in any of it!

Nick's real problem right now is the way Kim is staring at him. "What?" he asks, sinking into the abandoned seat. She doesn't respond, and Carmina glances skeptically at her dad from across the table. "What was I supposed to do?" he asks, exasperated. "It's not like he was gonna let it go."

"You could have put your foot down," Kim says. She sounds downright _disappointed_ , and that stings more than Nick wants to admit. "You could have taken my side," she adds, aiming her heavy frown at the coffee cup in front of her.

"We've been waiting for him to want to talk about it," Nick points out. "And anyway, we need a radio. If he can help, we should encourage it. Right?"

Kim isn't keen on getting into a fight right in front of Carmina, so she only nods her head in response. It's enough, though, because Nick _does_ wind up feeling guilty for siding with John. Right or not, he probably should have negotiated that better.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "You're right. I've got tunnel-vision with this radio problem, is all."

"I know," Kim sighs. "I just... worry."

"Well, don't. I'll be fine."

Kim rolls her eyes. "It isn't _you_ I'm worried about, Nick." She looks towards the stairs, listening to John pacing up in his room, then reluctantly turns back to her husband. "Just... promise me that you'll keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Nick replies. Kim doesn't look too reassured, so Nick reaches over and wraps her hand in his. "Really, I will." He glances at Carmina and tells her, "You'll keep an eye on mom so she doesn't worry all day, right?"

"Sure," Carmina says. Nick knows from the Kim-like tone in her voice that she thinks he's being an ass, but at least she's young enough to not call him out directly yet. All he has to do now is make sure that neither of his girls can rub his rash decision-making in his face when he gets back.

* * *

John is quiet as he and Nick make their way through the woods. The walk itself isn't too bad, less than a mile out from the edge of what Nick used to consider his property, but John is having a lot of trouble hiding how jittery it is, and it makes for a tense hike. He keeps speeding up and falling behind, as though he can't decide whether or not he wants to lead the way.

"You _sure_ you're ready for this?" Nick asks eventually, unable to help himself. John answers with such a dirty look that Nick immediately goes on the defensive. "Hey, don't give me that. I just don't want you to, you know... start having nightmares about it or Joseph or whatever all over again. _You're_ the one who's always been weird about it."

John scoffs but doesn't respond. From the way he glares at the ground, Nick figures he probably hasn't _stopped_ having nightmares yet. That's... probably a good reason to keep him from climbing all the way down into the hole. Of course, Nick isn't sure that he'll really be able to stop John, never mind what John promised back at the house.

"What were you doing out here?" John asks after the silence grows out again. "When you found me."

"Oh. Well, I was sorta looking for places to put more traps, after I made them. And, you know, if there was anything left to salvage out here." Neither of those ideas had gone anywhere, although maybe now would be a good time to revisit them. "There's not much out here, though. There's that herd of deer to the north, and the river... we really haven't needed to expand so much."

John hums agreeably in response, although he doesn't have much to add to the conversation. Nick doesn't know how to keep it afloat by himself, so he doesn't, letting them sink back into silence until they finally reach their destination. Nick recognizes the spot by the shock of parachute fabric hanging in the trees, just a flash of artificial color behind the browns and greens of the trees.

Now that he has time to look around, Nick can sort of see where the land had been cleared for installation. Of course, the only remnant of the open circle now is the thinner layer of weeds over what looks like a thirty-foot rectangle. He doesn't remember anybody building out here, and he can't even fathom _when_ they could have done it, but somebody came through here right before the apocalypse and made themselves a hidey-hole.

Nick doesn't wait to approach the closed bunker door, but John lingers at the imagined edge of the space as though facing a barbed-wire fence. He seems pensive and lost in thought, and Nick lets him adjust while he sweeps away dirt and scraggly tumbleweeds that have just started to cover the hatch. Just a bunker or not, it's got to be a lot to deal with, although Nick can't imagine _why_. No matter how terrible being alone had been, it couldn't have gotten worse than intense boredom. Hell, Nick's met two different people who had clearly let the cabin fever get to them, and neither of them could shut up about their damn bunkers.

Reaching down, Nick braces his legs on either side of the bunker door and pulls at the hatch. John is clearly holding his breath, even this far away, tension coiled in his shoulders and forcing his spine ramrod-straight. He doesn't offer to help, stuck in place like he is.

"Maybe you should stay up here," Nick offers.

Of course, John only scowls at the thought. "You won't know where to look. It would be faster if I went in alone."

"Yeah, Kim would _love_ it if I let you do that. Don't be an asshole."

Nick heaves the door upwards. The rusted hinges scream in protest, as if they hadn't moved in years, but the door swings open after a few hard tugs on the handle.

John hesitates a second longer, then approaches the hatch. Nick goes over to the edge, crouching down so that he doesn't fall, and shines the flashlight down the ladder. The air is stale, smelling like rot and mold, and Nick can see a puddle drying at the base of the ladder. Well, that makes sense — there's no way the seal is still airtight. So much for closing the door from the elements.

"You ready?" Nick asks. John nods mutely in response, standing some feet away from the hole. "Really, John. You don't have anything to prove. Kim would probably be happy if you stayed up top."

John grimaces. "I'll go first," he says, his voice clipped.

This is a bad idea, and Nick knows it. A month or two ago, he'd probably have figured John was about to pull a fast one on him, but now he's more concerned that John is trying to pull something on _himself_. Confronting your fears is one thing, but as John climbs down the ladder and Nick gets a good look at his pale face and tight jaw, he worries that this is too much, too fast. Not that John seems to understand the concept of pacing himself — he seems more like the kind of guy to throw himself mindlessly at a problem until it shatters under the sheer force of his determination.

Nick hands John the flashlight before he gets out of reach, following him down the rungs as quickly as he can. They knock into each other as he reaches the bottom rung, and Nick turns to find John aiming the flashlight uselessly at their feet. Staring down the murky darkness that turns the bunker into a cave of unknown depths, John looks as though he might hear floodwaters in the distance.

Maybe he's just taken aback by how bad things look, even with only a little light to see by. The looming piles of garbage and years of refuse have turned the twenty-by-ten foot box into a narrow, craggy cavern. Nick can see a door at the far end of the gloom, cracked in the middle and left ajar in its frame, surrounded by a pile of overturned furniture. He spends a second or two trying to calculate the dark tally marks he can see covering the wall next to him, but there are too many and he can't keep track.

John takes a shuddering deep breath that turns Nick's attention back to him. "Hey," he calls, "You okay?"

"Yes," John replies, spitting the word out. He shakes his head heavily from side to side, just in case Nick missed the baldfaced lie for what it is, and takes a hesitating step away from the ladder. The breath he takes doesn't seem to give him enough air, and no amount of gasping can draw more in. He has a white-knuckled grip on the ladder, and it seems for a second to be the only thing holding him up as he visibly reels.

Nick hasn't been on the opposite end of a panic attack in a long time, but he's been through enough on his own to see that John is veering wildly in that direction. He's searching the walls, rapid-fire counting the lines, confusion breaking out on his sweaty, gray face.

"Hey," Nick says quickly, lifting his hands placatingly as he comes closer, "Hey, it's gonna be okay."

John shakes his head again, rapidly this time, abandoning any pretense of control. "No," he gasps, "No, I don't think it is!"

Goddamn it. Nick should have known better, he never should have agreed to this, he _never_ should have let John come down here. He just — he hadn't thought it would be like this. He didn't know it could be this bad.

Nick puts off berating himself, at least until John's panic passes. For now, he focuses on damage control, guiding John's free hand to grab hold of the ladder, which is at least haloed in enough light to keep the worst of it from immediate view.

"It _is_ gonna be okay," he insists. "Here, let's — let's get back up top. Get you some fresh air, okay?"

For a moment, it looks like John doesn't understand the concept, but his fingers eventually curl together on one rung. "I didn't know," he says unhelpfully, but at least he doesn't resist as Nick ushers him slowly up the ladder. He moves so slowly, paralyzed by each step, but Nick's only concern is making sure he doesn't fall on his way out.

The sun is right overhead as John slides out of the bunker, crawling on his hands and knees and collapsing several feet away from the opening. Nick hesitates on the last rung, knowing full well that they can't just _leave_ now that they're here, but he has to deal with John first. The radio has waited this long — it can wait a little while longer.

John gasps for air a few more times, barely catching his breath. He doesn't look at Nick, but he offers him a miserable apology, mumbling, "Sorry," halfway into the dirt.

Nick crouches beside John, awkwardly shifting his weight on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to do here — he isn't used to being on this side of things, and Kim is so much better at calming people down than he is. The worst of the attack has passed, but Nick's not good at damage control.

"Hey," he says at last, "It's okay. Take your time."

There's not a patient bone in John's body, so it's a small miracle when he listens obediently, struggling until his breath evens out enough to ease the panic.

"I thought I could handle it," he sighs at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "I handled it for seven years, I thought..."

Nick doesn't think what he saw down there counts as _handling it_ by any means, but he's not about to say as much. Truthfully, he doesn't know _what_ to say.

"We should go," Nick says. "This isn't worth it."

John looks offended at the mere suggestion. "We came all the way here," he rasps. "Give me a minute. I'll — I'll go back —"

"Like hell you will," Nick snaps. He doesn't mean to, but damn, is John really such a masochist? "Look, just — let me go find it. You keep watch up here."

There's barely any hesitation before John nods miserably in agreement. He tries not to let it get to him, but he's already shaken by the underground and he's in a suspiciously fragile state himself. He hopes to God that he can find the radio on his own, and that it works enough to make this trip worth the trauma. If this doesn't work out, Nick is going to feel even worse about it than he already does.

It's not the best idea to leave John alone, but Nick forces himself to go through with it anyway. Armed only with his flashlight and empty backpack, Nick descends as quickly as he can, taking one last breath of fresh air before disappearing into the bunker.

God, there is blood _everywhere_. Nick's not sure how many of the streaks on the walls are meant to be counted with the rest of the tallies, scratched into the walls with what Nick hopes to God was anything other than John's fingernails. Everywhere Nick shines the light, he finds another smear of crumbling red blood, each one painting a different image of John's scars and scabbed over tattoos. The garbage is honestly overwhelming, with a decade of waste piled up openly on top of sealed trash bags, cans spilling across the floor, dirty clothes and ripped fabrics clumped together in haphazard nests that have molded and mildewed into an inseparable mess...

There's more room to walk than Nick originally thought, although there aren't many places entirely free of trash. Still, he hesitates to step outside of the ring of natural light above. After all, nothing about this bunker is safe. Looking past the garbage and the wreckage that John has left behind, Nick sees rust starting to form along the seams, and his first step feels uneven, as if they hadn't leveled the ground properly before installing and just couldn't be assed to fix it.

Jesus Christ. It's a miracle that John didn't die down here. It's surprising enough that it circulated enough air for him to survive. How the hell did he make it as long as he did in this death trap?

It's not a question Nick can answer, and quite frankly he doesn't think it's safe to spend much time down here ruminating. As a matter of fact, the _less_ time he spends down here, the better. It's hard not to take note of the damage, though, especially as he searches for wherever John might've kept his radio. Lord, with the way everything seems to have been torn apart, who knows if it's even going to be in one piece? Or even somewhere accessible? Nick _really_ doesn't want to go poking through the destroyed couch or the bags of trash heaped in confusing piles across the bunker.

He heads all the way to the back of the space, circling around an overturned table and seeing at last a small desk wedged into the corner, facing the ladder. The radio microphone hangs from its cord over the edge, and Nick has to repress a delighted shout when he sees that it's still in one piece. There's a crack along the plastic case, but other than that, Nick can see that it's a model very similar to the one back home — older by a couple of years, maybe, but hopefully not so old that it's no longer compatible.

He struggles to be careful as he loads the radio into his bag, but all he wants to do is get the hell _out_ of here. It's only once he's pulled the heavy backpack back onto his shoulders that Nick takes stock of the position that he's in. Standing here, facing the ladder, Nick can see a definite barrier that John must've formed at some point — the table, the desk, even the broken down automatic washer, all of it has been set up as though John were planning to hunker down against an enemy attack.

On the ground, behind the table, Nick sees a book with a white leather cover. The gilded Eden's Gate emblem has been mostly rubbed clean off, but Nick has seen that book too many times not to recognize it for what it is. It's bloated with water damage and stuffed with ripped addenda that have filled the binding to burst, lying on the cement like an undetonated grenade.

Nick grabs it before he can think better about it. He immediately regrets it, mostly because the bottom cover has become slimy and the whole thing feels like it's going to come apart in his hands. Not knowing what else to do, he drops it onto the empty desk, wrinkling his nose at the squelching slap of wet paper on wood. He goes so far as to pinch the first few pages under his finger, ready to flip it open to some random verse — but even touching the cover leaves Nick feeling uneasy and watched. Honestly, just looking at it fills Nick with a sense of distant dread, the same hazy fear that came along with the first time he got a face-full of Bliss.

Fuck that, he decides. Whatever John's left in the book, it's not for Nick to look at. He already got what they came for, and it's been about five minutes; Nick can't leave John waiting much longer, and frankly he doesn't want to. With one last grimace in the book's direction, Nick beelines for the ladder. He stops trying to tabulate how many days John kept track of, stops wondering when or if he ever lost count, and focuses entirely on getting the hell out of the goddamn deathtrap.

It's probably just his imagination, but Nick can smell floral sweetness in the air as he finally escapes the bunker. He takes a deep breath once he's out, tipping his face back to gratefully meet the blue Montana sky.

John waits until Nick looks at him to ask uneasily, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah," Nick replies, shifting the backpack so that he can pat it reassuringly. "I think it'll work. I didn't check for the parts — I figure we can do that back home."

John nods a few times. "Good," he mutters, "Good," as if maybe he doesn't think it's such a good thing at all. He falls silent, and Nick realizes he's waiting for Nick to say something about what he saw down there.

Nick _wants_ to say something. He doesn't know what, though. His own thoughts are scattered and confused. "Uh... you mind if I close it up?" he asks.

John shakes his head mutely in response; the clang of the door rises up through the air like a stricken bell, scattering some birds that had been resting in the treetops.

"So... uh..." Nick rubs the back of his head, trying to decide what to say before deciding lamely to go with, "Do you... wanna talk about it?"

The fact that John doesn't immediately reply tells Nick all he needs to know. When John finally says, "No," Nick knows it's a lie, even if he's not sure what to do about it. Nick's positive that they _do_ need to talk about it. But he doesn't know how he can force the issue, and he's sure he's not the man to do it. John needs a licensed psychologist, or a goddamn priest, someone who can absolve him of whatever the fuck _that_ all was down there, not a hick aviator who can hardly handle his own trauma.

"Are you sure?" he presses. "I mean..."

John stares at the dirt, his hands curling into tense fists. Nick moves immediately to rescind the question, but John beats him to the punch. "I didn't know it would look like that," he tells the weeds matted under his boots. "I didn't think it would... be like that."

Nick wants to ask how John avoided noticing the mess spiraling out of control around him, but there had been plenty of evidence down there that proved John hadn't been in a clear state of mind.

"There... were issues with the power early on," John admits, clearing his throat roughly. "I would have to... prioritize. Switch on the lights, switch off the ventilation system. Switch off the lights, switch on the ventilation. Eventually, I stopped switching on the lights."

He swallows a few times and tries to bring his eyes to Nick's, but he can't seem to manage it. "Really," he mutters. "We don't have to talk about it." But before Nick can agree, because he suddenly wants to hear as little of the story as possible, John continues briefly onward, staggering the words as though he's throwing them off a cliff. "I've been locked in the dark before," he says. "I thought I could handle it. But I... I couldn't."

Nick doesn't know what to say. He stares helplessly at John, waiting for Kim to materialize out of the wood and point out the obvious emotional cue for him to take, but there's nothing but John's uncomfortable expression and a quiet forest all around them. He should reach out, maybe. Offer him a sympathetic hand, or something.

"That's all I want to say about it," John says at last.

"Uh. Okay." Nick clears his throat, tries to think up a good joke to lighten the mood, and fails completely. He tries to come up with something to say that would share his sentiment but nothing comes.

"Kim will start to worry," John mutters.

Kim's gonna worry no matter what, but Nick doesn't bother to tell John that. If he thinks he can hide his emotional distress from Nick's wife, then he is _welcome_ to try. At least that'll be more fun to watch than the slow implosion happening in front of him now.

Nick waits until the silence between them on the way back doesn't feel so thick, then tries to distract from John's deeply pensive mood. "I'm not looking forward to reading more of that manual," he says as they trace the path back towards the house. "But I also don't wanna screw up our only chance at replacing it. It's a real tough situation."

"I assume the pictures aren't clear enough for you," John replies. It's a joke insult that stings mostly because of John's brisk delivery, and he ducks away as soon as the words leave his mouth. Nick considers taking it personally for a second, until John wearily mutters a sincere apology into the air between them. "I didn't mean that," he admits roughly.

"It's fine," Nick shrugs. After all, Nick's used to being a self-defensive dickhead; he can't exactly take offense.

Casually brushing it off seems to be the wrong thing to do. John comes to an abrupt halt behind Nick, thick tears gathering and spilling over his closed eyelids. At first, when Nick turns, he can't comprehend the sight in front of him, watching John's face slowly turn red. John sucks in a wet, heaving breath, which only makes things worse as it turns into a sob midway. It seems to mortify John, but he can't stop, and all at once he's just — _crying_ , and Nick is left standing there while John covers his face in humiliation and sucks in deep, horrified breaths. Words try to form between the sobs, but all Nick hears is desperate wailing.

"Shit," Nick says, setting down the backpack, "Okay, hold on —"

"—Didn't know what to do," John's saying, the words tearing from his throat. "I got trapped, I didn't —"

"Hey," Nick tries, "Just — take a breath."

John sobs, dropping to his knees in the mulch. "I lost track of it," he gasps, "I don't know what's real, Nick. How much of this is happening — I keep thinking I'm not — I'm not ever getting out of here, and I —"

Oh, Nick knows he fucked up real bad now. John's cries tear through the scar overlaying his heart, as though twisting a knife that's rusted over in his chest. Nick thinks back to the muttering, the distant looks, the unsettling nightmares, and now he kind of sees them for what they are. Deep, visible wounds on John's psyche that he should have caught sooner. Signs of a collapse much bigger than the one that put them in this world to begin with. Clear indications that John wasn't ready to go back.

"Please," John gasps. He doesn't ask for anything, so Nick doesn't know what he wants, but he repeats the word like it's the only one he knows. " _Please_."

"God damn," Nick sighs, coming to John's side. "You are a real piece of work."

He can't help but try to deflect, even as he reaches out to grasp the dented curves of John's shoulders. He knows there are deep, claw-mark scars under his hands, even if he can't feel them through the flannel of John's shirt. He thinks he understands where they came from now, although the concept is more horrifying than Nick is willing to consider; all he can do is be better than John had been to himself, and hope that's enough.

Nick barely pulls John in before he's being grabbed, desperate claws sinking into Nick's back as John scrabbles for a secure grip. He's shaking so badly that Nick feels it rattling his own bones. There's nothing for Nick to do but hold on while John desperately tries not to fall apart at the seams, struggling to form coherent words. Nick only catches some of them, as John tries to explain the barriers, the tallies, the scarred over spaces where he used to have tattoos, but he doesn't need to understand the words to see the wounds that are being uncovered.

"Alone," John cries into Nick's chest, "I was _alone,_ the whole time, he said _I wouldn't be alone_ —"

"Okay," Nick consoles, "It's okay."

John eventually calms down, although it's anybody's guess how long it takes for him to finally catch his breath. Even when he does, his gasps finally leveling out, he keeps a tight grip on the back of Nick's shirt. Not even Carmina has clung to Nick so terribly, and despite the fact that John has a couple of years on him, Nick manages to feel desperately protective in the moment. He can't help it. John keeps talking like he can't tell up from down, and he'd been trapped down in that hole for who knows how long without power, and from the chaos he'd seen, it's clear John has been trying to protect himself for a long time.

"I've got ya," Nick says after John lets out a heavy sigh, finally losing the strength to hold on so tightly.

John's sweaty face is pressed into Nick's shoulder, but the words are still clear. "I need this to be real," he admits quietly. "I can't go back there."

"You don't have to," Nick says. He's rubbing John's back now and he doesn't know when he started, but the guy seems so desperate for the contact that he can't bring himself to stop. "You're not making me up, you know?"

John huffs. There might be a laugh somewhere in there, or Nick might be imagining it. "I know," he rasps. "I wouldn't be so kind to myself."

Oh, man. Nick sighs, patting his back gently. "Gotta work on that, I guess," he says. "We'll get you there."

John's fingers curl briefly against Nicks back. "Thank you," he mutters. "God, thank you."

Nick lets the situation lie like that for a minute or so. John is the first one to let go, his arms falling away from Nick's sides as he leans back and takes a deep, steady breath of air. Nick lets him go with a heavy pat on the shoulder, relieved to have the space if only because it means John isn't about to collapse again.

"Kim was right," John admits, saying aloud the thought that's been repeating nonstop in Nick's mind. "I should have listened to her."

Nick gets to his feet. "Yeah, probably. Thank God she isn't the type to say 'I told you so,' huh?"

John sits back, scrubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. "I hope so," he says.

"I think I know my wife pretty well by now," Nick chuckles, holding his hand out for John. "C'mon, let's get home before she comes looking for us."

For an awful second, Nick thinks John is going to cry again, but he only grits his teeth and takes Nick's help to climb to his own feet. He dusts off his pants as though his face isn't warped by drying tear tracks, wiping belatedly at the wet skin under his eyes as they start onward again. Nick doesn't let him trail behind too far, but he doesn't force John to keep pace either, leaving enough space so that John doesn't feel self-conscious when he starts sniffling again.

They haven't been gone that long, but Kim is still waiting for them outside when they get back. She and Carmina are reading on the porch, but as soon as Nick and John reach the driveway, Kim drops the pretense entirely. Nick hears John take a deep breath behind him; he looks back, but John's expression is too troubled to get a good read. At least he doesn't seem likely to bolt.

"We got it!" Nick shouts as they walk across the drive, lifting the backpack up triumphantly.

"Oh, thank God," Kim sighs, relief flooding her expression. "Nobody got hurt?"

Nick looks back at John, then shrugs. "Nothing we can't fix," he suggests.

John takes a breath. He looks like he wants to spill everything right then and there, but he boils it all down into a simple admission. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Stunned, Kim asks, "Are you okay?"

"No," he quietly replies. "You were right."

Kim shakes her head, glancing briefly at Nick before putting a gentle hand on John's arm. He sighs shakily at the contact, but thankfully he doesn't collapse into another crying wreck. Kim looks like she's expecting something like that, but John manages to surprise them both.

"We can talk about it later, if you want," Kim tells him, patting his shoulder.

There's relief in John's voice as he suggests, "I'll need a strong drink before I accept that offer."

Kim shakes her head, laughing a little. "It's as good a place to start as any," she tells him.

Carmina, who's been standing on the porch looking increasingly bored, finally gives up waiting for attention. "Hey, dad," she calls, lifting the radio's manual up in the air, "Can I help with the radio?"

"So much for my technological superiority," Nick sighs, raising his voice to tell Carmina, "Sure!"

"I couldn't help it," Kim replies. She has a smug expression that tells Nick a different story, but he can easily forgive her for deciding to make their kid smarter out of spite. It's better than trying to poison him or running off with Hurk and his raider gang. "I cleared off the table for you," she adds, "And I brought out the radio so you could get a better look at it."

"I guess there's no better time to start than now," Nick says. He offers John a lopsided grin and asks, "So, uh, how much do you know about electronic repair?"

"About as much as you," John replies. He gestures his arm towards the house, saying, "It can be a learning experience for us all."

As if this whole year so far hasn't been one big learning curve. Nick shakes his head, leading the three adults up to the porch. Carmina disappears inside, triumphantly waving the manual in the air, leaving Nick to chase playfully after her inside the house. He catches sight of Kim talking to John on the porch, but Carmina is squealing delightedly in his arms so he can't quite make out the conversation. Later on, he can tell Kim about what happened, but for now, she seems content with whatever John is saying, patting him again on the arm before leading him inside. She shuts the door behind her, and for the first time in almost a year, Nick feels as though he's finally home, surrounded by people on the same page as him for once. This, he thinks, could very well be his new normal, and that's not so bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (most of this note still applies so i'll leave it, but! you guessed it: kiichu commissioned [a scene from this chapter](https://foxtophat.tumblr.com/post/626999598170439680/kiichu-nick-hands-john-the-flashlight-before-he)! it was done by the amazing terlebarts, and i absolutely love it.)
> 
> so this is the second to last chapter!! finishing this chapter officially ends the story that i had started writing when new dawn came out -- the epilogue is new, but i think it'll be really good to cap off this story.  
> i hope that you guys enjoyed. i've been emotionally compromised by john crying for like a year or two now, so i'm glad i could finally 1) get that off my chest and 2) force it onto YOUR chest, for you to carry with you now!  
> i don't really have much to say. i hope that everyone is safe and that you know there are good people watching out there, who are trying to help. it's like mr rogers said: look for the helpers.  
> i love you guys so much! thank you for all of your comments, likes and reblogs, they mean the world to me!!! if you want to hit me up at my tumblr (foxtophat) then by all means, do!!! i love hearing from people.


	13. Epilogue: Oh John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the heat of summer, Nick and Kim take John on a long-overdue visit.

It is _hot_ outside today. The cool morning air has no chance against a bright sun in a barely cloudy sky, and there's no way to confuse this summer heat for a warm spring day. By the time John and Nick finish loading the truck-bed with salvage, both of their shirts are damp from sweat. There's no such thing as sunscreen anymore, so Nick scrounges up an extra hat for John, and Kim reminds Carmina for the sixth time to drink as much water as she can while she's out in the sun. This is Carmina's first full summer above-ground, but from the sound of it, last autumn hadn't been much cooler, so she at least understands the concept of heat exhaustion.

As far as John can tell, the only person unphased by the heat is Grace, who stays on the porch and watches the two men work. She hasn't said more than two words to John in the past month, but she's always watching him. She makes it abundantly clear whenever she comes over to pick up Carmina or spend time with the Ryes, and no amount of conversation can keep her from boring holes between John's shoulders. There have been a lot of murderous glares thrown his way in his life, but Grace's is the only one that feels truly lethal. There's no social code left to keep Grace from shooting John the moment he steps out of line, and John is certain only Kim's goodwill is preventing her from going through with it.

Ten years ago, John would have been humiliated to be so utterly powerless against someone as insignificant as Grace Armstrong. Today, John is only grateful to finally understand somebody perfectly. Grace is exactly who John had prepared himself for when that caravan passed through. There's no uneasy truce between them, no muddled water. All John has to do is keep his head down and not look directly at her, and she won't shoot him. It's painfully simple, and exactly what John needs.

Kim hovers in the doorway behind Grace, going over house gun-safety with Carmina for the umpteenth time. John keeps his back to the porch as Nick slides plank after plank of plywood his way, so he mostly doesn't see them, but he can tell Carmina is bored by her exasperated _yes_ es and _okay_ 's. John briefly wonders what might've happened if he'd ever talked back like that to his parents, then promptly stuffs the thought away for another day. He's trying to stay positive about this trip, after all. The last thing he needs to do is think about the Duncans or the Seeds.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Grace asks Nick once they've finished loading up. Even with his back turned, John tries to keep his expression neutral.

"What? Yeah, of course it is." Nick looks across the bed at John, who is far too busy remaining silent and neutral to offer any support. "Everybody who lives there's already been through. It's not like John's gonna be a surprise at this point, and anyway, we're gonna need the extra hands."

"I'm surprised you don't just have Carmina do it."

"Kim won't let her ride in back," Nick grouses. He walks around the truck, pausing by the tailgate to double-check that it's locked in place. "Anyway, John wants to go." He eyes John, frowning, triple-guessing himself even after John's _told him_ it's time. "Right?"

John has to take a breath to ease his exasperation before he responds. "Yes," he says, although really, it isn't about wanting to go. He needs to. He can't stay hidden away at Rye & Daughter Aviation forever.

Grace is not even slightly convinced. "If you say so," she says.

As usual, it's Kim who comes in at the eleventh hour to distract Grace away from John, who can safely move around without more scrutiny. "Thanks for watching the place," she says, swooping into the conversation as if she hadn't been listening a few feet away. "Carmina's been excited to show you her progress in the yard since the last time you were here."

It works like clockwork, and Grace winds up bashfully smiling under Kim's genuine gratitude. "Hey, it's no problem. Like I said, I'm always happy to help keep Carmina busy."

John had never taken Kim seriously before, not _really_ , but he never should have underestimated her de-escalation tactics. Honestly, he'd never understood why Nick would rely so much on her. He'd assumed that it was all some sort of act that Nick put on so he could constantly remind everybody that Kim was his property, or occasionally to escape from a situation he wouldn't be able to win. John hadn't thought anything at all about why someone like Kim would let herself be used like that.

Nowadays, John holds their relationship up as a standard to set all others to. It's horrifying how far short John's past relationships fall in comparison to theirs. But those thoughts, like any others involving his families, aren't suitable for today.

Grace disappears into the house, Carmina following eagerly behind. Kim steps off the porch, lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"You ready?" she asks. At this angle, it's hard to tell which one of them she's talking to, but John knows better than to assume she's thinking about him.

"As we'll ever be," Nick replies. "You sure you'll be okay in the back, John?"

Nick isn't trying to slight him, but John still has to hold back an instinctive reaction to say something snide. It's a struggle, more than he's willing to admit to, but he manages. "Yes," he says, the easiest word to fall back on in his vocabulary, but Nick doesn't seem convinced. He usually isn't, not by single-word responses and _certainly_ not by that word in particular, so John rolls his eyes for show and adds, "I'll be fine as long as you can drive better than you can fly."

"Man, when'd you get so goddamn mouthy?" Nick gripes, mostly in good nature. "Lucky there aren't any planes left to settle that matter."

Kim waves Nick into the cab, and John climbs into the truck-bed, settling with his back against the cab. It takes a minute to adjust as they start down the drive, but John figures out how to hold down the open container of components, and most everything else lies flat on the bed beneath him. The driveway itself is bumpy terrain, but the road levels out surprisingly even as they turn towards Fall's End. John's view is limited to the road unfurling behind them, the scenery feeling like a strange, dreamlike replication of the place John used to know. Everything is simultaneously familiar and alien, and for most of the ride, John can only hold on and mark the distance by once-familiar billboards that are now mostly torn down.

From the way Nick and Kim had talked about Fall's End, John had expected more of the town than what he gets. After all, it was never meant to be a direct target of the Collapse. That's why Joseph had wanted it so badly. But as it turns out, calling what's left a _town_ is stretching the word to its limits. Other than the church, only the Spread Eagle managed to escape complete annihilation, apparently by divine providence alone. The rest of the structures that once lined the side-roads are now nothing but abandoned ruins, picked clean of useful salvage and left to rot. From John's place in the truck bed, he has a good 360-degree view of the remains, although most of his attention is on not letting any plywood fall out of the bed as Nick speeds down the bumpy road.

It isn't as though John is surprised by the wreckage. Everything John had been working towards with Eden's Gate had prepared him for the fact that the old world would be gone when he came back from the brink. Still, as the truck chugs its way towards the bar, John finds himself unexpectedly struck by the ruin. All of the buildings that had provided _tactical advantages_ according to Jacob are gone. There's no way to repair any infrastructure here. Joseph's talk about empty homes available to everyone, about fields of grain and a church full of children learning how to be good, honest people — all that's left of those empty promises are decimated buildings and hard, scorched earth.

Surely Joseph would have blamed John's expectations on his own laziness and impatience. Maybe he'd be right. But all John can think is that they could have simply waited the resistance out. They could have saved the valuable resources they had thrown at the war against the valley. What was the point of wasting their supplies and sacrificing blind followers for something like the Reaping?

John doesn't want to think about Joseph any more than he already has to. Thankfully, Nick brings the truck to a sudden stop, rocking John backward into the cab's window and pulling him out of his obsessing brain.

"Hey, see?" Nick comments to Kim as he climbs out of the cab, "I told you we had it."

" _Barely_ ," John adds. "Did you make an effort to hit _every_ pothole on the way here?"

"I mean, the road's _mostly_ potholes," Nick chuckles.

Clicking her tongue so that she doesn't incriminate her husband, Kim comes around to the side of the bed. "Let's unload everything before you two start arguing, okay?"

Even as Kim is talking, people are showing up to find out who just rolled into town. John recognizes most of them from their forays out to the Rye homestead, although a few unfamiliar faces are crowding the blown-out windows of the bar. John counts six people, which is already more than he expected to live in one place, but there are doubtless more inside. By his estimation, more than a dozen people are living in the area around here, including Jerome, although he can't imagine they _all_ live here. They can't possibly.

"Glad y'all made it," one woman says as she steps out onto the deck. She sees John looking at her and remarks sourly, "Jerome said you might be bringing him. But not Carmina?"

"We needed the extra hands," Kim replies. She has her back turned to the bar, and so only Nick and John can see her roll her eyes in exasperation as she explains. "And Grace is watching Carmina today. They're building a shooting range at the end of the runway."

Sour-faced as she is, the woman who's been put in charge seems pleased to hear it. "Well, better'a shot, better'a person, I guess. C'mon, it's all going upstairs."

John unloads most of the truck by himself, leaving Kim and Nick with the task of taking everything inside. A few sheets of plywood, a crate of miscellaneous fasteners, and two metal fence poles later, he finds himself waiting alone by the truck. It's hot as hell, and although John will take the dry Montana heat over Atlanta's oppressive humidity, he still wishes that air conditioning was a thing. He can see the heat radiating off the distant cracked asphalt, and the sun gleams in the broken windows of a derelict shop across the street. There's a boisterous conversation happening inside, but John knows better than to go looking for shade in the Spread Eagle. He's fairly certain that if he put one foot in the bar, Mary May would rise from her grave and destroy him.

Nick had mentioned a memorial, but John doesn't see it from his spot on the street. Nick and Kim seem to have things under control, so John slowly paces away from the truck, heading around to the space that used to be a parking lot. Mary May's father would keep his ugly big rig parked out here as a trophy, but now the dirt lot is empty. There's no telling what happened to the truck, but John hopes Mary May got some solace out of it before the end.

John had expected the sort of memorial you would see on the side of the freeway, with a crude wooden cross and some affectations of remembrance. He's more than a little shocked, then, to find that Mary May's grave is itself the memorial. He shouldn't be surprised. Where else would they have buried her? But still, there is something deeply unsettling about it as he stares down at the uniform mound of rocks covering the dirt. There's a clean, fairly ornate cross lying across the rocks, and a crude wooden headstone that has her name, _Mary May_ , carved in heavy uppercase, along with two dates: _1993-2023?_

Of course, they wouldn't have known the actual year. John isn't sure of it himself now.

He stands at the foot of her grave for a while. There's a bare breeze sweeping over the empty valley, which manages to make the sun a little more bearable. John's not sure if it would be blasphemous to pray for Mary May or not, but he's sure she would cuss him out if he did, so he refrains. Apologizing to Mary May would have... well, it would have made John feel better, but now that he's standing here, he's not so sure she would tolerate it. Honestly, knowing her, she would have died out of spite if she'd made it far enough to see him again. She would have spat on him and told him to go to hell, then choked on radiation poisoning right there on the spot.

Then again, John had expected Nick to shoot him without reservation. Maybe she would have surprised him, too. Been different from the thing he'd imagined her to be in the dark.

Somehow, he doubts it.

With Nick and Kim still distracted and the rest of the group seeming to have forgotten about him, John takes the opportunity to explore the remains of town further. He walks from the bar, across the empty field and towards the decrepit church standing by itself. The road is still visible in patches, but John chooses to walk across what used to be the backyards of residents who have long since died. He keeps his eye out for snake-holes, but the dirt is undisturbed and possibly uninhabitable to even the most tenacious of serpents. Only time will tell whether or not anything could ever grow here again.

It's clear that nobody has made the same effort to reclaim the church as they had with the bar. John assumes that's largely due to Mary May's influence, although he can't blame the survivors for choosing the communal space with alcohol over the one without so much as a root cellar. Still, it fills John with a strange melancholy to see the church overtaken by vines and left like a sacrifice to nature. He's never particularly cared for religious institutions before, but he's no doubt personally responsible for the end of the practitioners who might have tried to save this particular building.

John had last passed through the front doors of this church in 2018, flanked by devoted sycophants of his personal design. He'd strolled down the aisle while Jerome was being wrestled to the ground, and he'd thought of every pew and pillar as his rightful property. Beyond the Project, this church was going to be _his._

Now, standing here in the late 2020s, John only feels as hollow as the interior. He'd thought he'd been in control. He'd thought he'd been chosen. But in the end, every single thing Joseph had asked of him led him down a path to ruin, and the _only_ thing that had saved him in the end had been his _own_ cowardly, second-guessing self.

Stepping through the doors into the open, empty hall feels like trespassing in the most divine sense, but at this point, John figures God can't expect much from him. He's always been inserting himself in places he doesn't belong, after all. It's God's job to forgive him for it.

The wooden structure creaks even in the gentle breeze. Otherwise, the church is silent; even John's footsteps are muffled by dirt as he slowly makes his way to the remnants of the altar. It's been too long, but John imagines he can spot his blood caked on the floor from when the deputy shot him. Nick's, too, has been absorbed by time, but John knows that it's still there in the wooden floorboards.

There are more holes in the roof than shingles at this point, letting in patches of sunlight from the drifting sun. As a cloud passes overhead, the light briefly dims, and John feels a deep internal chill at the first hint of creeping darkness. Nick would probably tell him it's _normal_ , or something, entirely unaware that John has no goddamn idea what _normal_ is supposed to be.

That's ungrateful, he knows, but sometimes it's difficult not to resent that jackass a little for being so well-adjusted.

The clouds shift, and for a moment a single shaft of light shines down in front of him, haloing the weeds in an inviting ring of warmth. John is reminded abruptly of Faith, lingering deep underground with him, the light glowing off the ladder rungs as she reaches out for him, her hand outstretched as if she could show him what might be a way _out_.

The clouds move, flooding the church with light, and things are clear again.

Maybe he should be more worried by the fleeting afterimages of his bunker hallucinations, but considering how bad they _used_ to be, John will take any improvement where he can find it. For the first few nights at the Rye's home, he had been plagued by the same near-tangible shapes that had haunted him below ground. Even after the worst had passed, so many of John's dreams of Joseph in the bunker had felt more real than the room he'd wake up in. Sometimes, he would stare into the distance and see a mirage of Joseph appearing over the horizon; other times, he would snap awake from a nightmare only to find Jacob watching him from the unlit corners of his room, flickering and disappearing in the edge of his vision. Faith's voice might laugh in his ear when he gets distracted by the slow-moving clouds in the sky. Even now, if he stands still enough, he can almost hear Jacob's off-key humming in the wind.

He hasn't told Nick or Kim about any of it, of course. He's not sure how he would explain it, for one — and for two, he doesn't know if he can stand any more of their pity. They already treat him like a child; if they think that he's mentally unwell, they're only going to be worse about it. John can handle a lot of things, but their sympathy chafes more than he'd like to let on. Besides, what could they possibly other than worry?

He knows that hiding it is more childish than explaining himself, but explaining himself these days just feels like asking for pity that he absolutely does not want. Nick's gotten back to hiding his moon-eyed concern with some degree of success, but Kim still speaks so gently to him and keeps suggesting he take breaks, that he _rest_ , that he sit down and talk, just for a minute. If it weren't for her open altruism, he'd think she was trying to get something from him. Hell, maybe she is. Maybe spending eight years by himself has tanked John's ability to see when he's being manipulated.

It doesn't really matter. If his only choices are between Kim's prying and Joseph's interrogations, then it really isn't a choice at all.

Although John doesn't hear anybody enter, he isn't terribly surprised when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He turns to find Jerome standing in the entryway, the light streaming around him and framing him in the whirling dust. It's uncharitable, but John's first thought is just how _old_ Jerome has gotten, eying his weary, slumped posture and the thick, dark gray banding his temples and beard.

"I thought I might find you here," Jerome says.

"Funny," John replies, "I was thinking the same thing about you."

Jerome approaches, although he stops at the first overturned bench, leaving the entire length of the aisle between them. Some part of John wishes other people would be as cautious about him as Jerome is.

"Nick and Kim wanted me to check on you. They said you might have come this way."

"Of course they did," John sighs. He can't help but be impressed that they didn't come looking for him themselves. Kim will no doubt have something to say about him having wandered off by himself, even though they're nowhere near danger.

The last time John stood in this church with Jerome, he had been desperately trying to maintain his control over the situation, wildly throwing everyone towards salvation without considering what saving somebody meant. It's been nearly a decade, but John can still feel the tension that remains between them, stretched between the destroyed pews like a tangled net.

"I take it things have been working out well," Jerome says. Despite having every right to be suspicious, he only seems curious as he asks, "Are you planning on staying with them?"

John resists pointing out that every plan he's ever made has gone belly up almost immediately, as well as the fact that he hasn't thought more than a day or two in the future for a long time now. The most neutral response he can offer is, "As long as they allow me to."

Jerome hums in response. John feels a sudden urge to bolt as Jerome begins to slowly pace down the aisle towards him, but his boots are glued to the spot. He already knows how the pastor feels about his miraculous survival, and he braces himself for what will most likely be a scathing indictment of all of his short-comings. A list of reasons why he should abandon the Ryes and resign himself to some serious kind of penance.

When Jerome speaks, it's only with neutral curiosity. "It's been a while since you've been inside a church, hasn't it? A real one, I mean. For genuine reasons."

John feels childish for not being able to directly meet Jerome's eyes, but he can't help it. "Not... since my parents died," he admits. For a second he wonders if Jerome ever read Joseph's manifesto, if he ever had the opportunity to see for himself what Joseph had to say about his youngest brother's upbringing. Jerome's expression betrays nothing, but John worries anyway. He isn't lying when he says, "They... soured my relationship with religion," but he still _feels_ like he is. It wasn't the Duncans who kept him from church, after all. If anything, they would have been massively disappointed to learn that he stopped the moment they weren't around to demand his piety.

"And then Joseph changed your mind," Jerome says. It's just a fact, but it still feels like an accusation.

Still, it's the truth. "Yes," John says. "He came to me, and promised me it would be different."

Exhaling slowly, Jerome finally passes John by entirely, stepping up behind the ransacked altar and looking at the spot where a crucifix should still be hanging.

"It's been a while for me, too," Jerome says after a short stretch of silence. "I want to say that maybe this place still counts, but I don't know. It could be that there are no churches left to go back to." There's no missing the age in Jerome's posture as he bows his head. "After everything we've been through, after everything you put us through — I don't know. There's probably no coming back from that."

Despite the blame being put squarely at his feet, it doesn't sting like an insult. It's just another fact, one that John won't forget any time soon. He can't afford to.

"You only have to tell me to rebuild it," John says. He tries not to hate himself for how desperately the words come out, but he means it. At least it would be a tangible step in the right direction for once, instead of one more blind stumble.

Jerome huffs, eying John with no small amount of bemusement. "I think we have more important things to worry about for the time being," he says. "The church can be a lot of things, but it can't hold a candle to a place with electricity and some aged whiskey."

How would Joseph react, if he had come out of his bunker to find his flock had chosen a bar over his church? John can't imagine he would have handled it with the same resigned grace Jerome is showing now. How long before he would decide to return to the armory, so that he could remind his followers they were supposed to be afraid of him? Of _them_? How long would Joseph's utopia have really lasted, even if everything had worked out exactly as he'd hoped? He can't imagine it would have taken long for his own voice to join the chorus shouting _might makes right_.

"It's only a place," Jerome says with some concern, which cuts through John's thoughts like a knife. "We can pray just as well at the bar, or in a bunker. After all, God doesn't live in the temple."

"I suppose that's true." John wishes that there was a pew left safe enough to sit on. Jerome might be right about the fundamentals, but right now John just wants to feel some sort of physical support. He settles for leaning against the least fragile part of the wall he can find, listening to the creaking wood for any sign of splintering.

The church remains silent around them. Somewhere up in the rafters, a bird flutters around, and it's the only living thing to break the gentle sound of the breeze. Jerome paces the perimeter away from John, no doubt going over every lost item, every blown-out window, and reminding himself of what once was. It's all John can do as he looks around.

Eventually, Jerome gets to the heart of the matter, which John has been waiting for since he arrived in the church. "I don't expect you to have an answer," he proceeds, "But I wonder whether you've been thinking about what I told you."

John has, as a matter of fact, been thinking about what Jerome told him. He's been thinking about it since they talked on the radio, a few days after the caravan had left Hope County. In a way, he's been thinking about it ever since he saw Joseph and his people invading the Rye homestead. There had been too many followers already for John's comfort, and if Joseph is left _entirely_ alone, that number will only go up. They might not have to assassinate him, but they'll most certainly have to stymie the number of people who might listen to what he has to say.

"I don't know if I'm the best candidate to deprogram former cultists," John says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Almost every follower had to go through me. There's not much chance they'll listen to anything I have to say."

"It won't be just your words that will convince them, but your actions, too." Jerome sighs heavily, wearily making do as he sits on a ruined and overturned pew. "Their faith was shaken like you said it would be. But word of Joseph's return has begun to spread, and... well, reason is already unfamiliar territory for some of them."

That's not surprising. John wonders how many members survived who had walked the path, who had been baptized and washed in Bliss and left in that inexplicable limbo as the Collapse came and went. John's own mind is still riddled from the endless testing and perfecting, sleepless weekends wandering through fictional fields with his brother preaching in his ear, finding the right balance between this world and the next so that Joseph could show the world.

"I want to help," John insists hoarsely. "But... talking to them will be difficult. The further down the path you are, the _harder_ that becomes." Even now, a dull but steady pressure is starting to build behind his eye, his mind flooded by a super-cut of Joseph's voice, questions chanting at him, _Do you feel it? Can you see it? Do you **understand** now? _

John doesn't expect Jerome's hand on his shoulder. He hadn't seen the other man move, but suddenly there he is, gripping John's arm as though he's trying to drag him from a crowded room. His grim, critical stare is unsympathetic in a way that neither Nick nor Kim would probably appreciate, but that steely gaze is the cold water John needs to clear his mind.

"We can wait," Jerome eventually relents. He doesn't sound disappointed, but that doesn't stop John from imagining it. It's not much better when Jerome reluctantly admits, "Nick... mentioned what happened with the bunker."

Of course he did. Nick couldn't possibly keep something like that to himself, could he? Well-meaning bastard. John tries to gather some sort of frustration, but it's hard to fight the resigned relief he feels now that he doesn't have to explain himself all over again.

"These things will take time," Jerome says.

John sighs heavily, rubbing the tension from his temple. "I am not known for my patience, Pastor."

Jerome's response is a deep bark of a laugh, equal parts humor and exasperation. "Ain't that the truth," he chuckles, smacking John's arm hard promptly before putting a good six feet back between them. "I'll do what I can for anyone who comes to me," he says, crossing his arms. "Eventually, I'm going to... _need_ your help. _They_ are going to need your help. I want that time to happen before Joseph makes another move." Any levity in his voice dissipates as he grimly reminds John, "It's only a matter of time before he learns you're here with us. I don't think he'll let that lie."

Briefly rubbing his knuckles, John casts his gaze towards the sky above, as if there might be some revelation to be had in the atmosphere. "I know," he says at last. "I can only hope he's disappointed enough in my survival to be satisfied with my cowardice."

It looks as though Jerome wants to say something, but he refrains, shaking his head briefly. "We can certainly hope," he says uncertainly. "Now, I think it might be best if we head back."

John can't help but suspect that Jerome doesn't want him to linger in the church any more than he already has. Still, he's right — nobody said this was meant to be a long trip, and John could use the ride to think.

It's only once he steps through the front doors that he realizes how much cooler and quieter the church had been than the rest of the world — there's some loud laughter floating in the wind from the bar, and the air comes as a blast of warm wind that nearly takes John's hat off before he can put it back on. From where he stands on the steps, John can see Nick and Kim by the truck, talking to a handful of people who John may or may not have personally attacked. Should he wait? None of them will appreciate his presence, even if Nick and Kim appreciate the work he does. It might be better for everyone if he lets the crowd clear.

Jerome's hand is heavy on John's shoulder. "No use avoiding them forever," he says, applying just enough force to encourage John to push forward. "Redemption doesn't happen by sitting around and waiting for it."

None of the townsfolk acknowledge John's presence, even when a few call out greetings to Jerome. Kim looks mildly irritated when she glances at him, which is probably because he walked off without mentioning his plans.

Nick, on the other hand, only seems relieved to see John arrive. "Great, you're back," he says, genuinely enough that some of the townsfolk seem scandalized by it. "You ready to head home?"

John doesn't know how to handle the words. He can hardly explain his reaction to them, unable to fully grasp the sensation of warmth that comes from such a simple sentiment. There's only one word that comes to mind, lighting up in his mind like a marquee, a sentiment genuinely given for once in his life even as he struggles to hide it.

"Yes," he says. "I'm ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i finished this fic some months ago and just now (october) got around to editing the notes, which i don't normally do but i really LOVE this fic and i wanted to keep things neat. also, did you see those 3 pieces of art??? come on, how could i not edit the notes to add those in?
> 
> this is part 1 of a series that i'm planning on doing. now that the foundation has been laid out, we can start exploring what life could be like for a truly repentant john seed. will he ever reconnect with joseph? how long can grace keep up the cold shoulder? what is carmina going to do when friends ask her who that weird guy who lives with her parents is? the answer to all of these questions and more is both compicated and forthcoming, assuming i get around to writing it!
> 
> okay, i'll be sincere here, because you just read 73k words and you deserve that. mercy had been stewing in my head since new dawn came out, but it took me a long time to finally get the courage to post the first few chapters. the response was so overwhelmingly positive that i couldn't stop myself from writing -- even when i was going mad with writer's block, i just couldn't stop thinking about this damn fic. having it be finished has been a blessing and a curse, because now my mind is free to pursue other ideas -- but also all i want is to write MORE!!! so hopefully i will do just that. if you're interested, you should follow the series for the fic so you can get updated when i eventually do more.
> 
> every comment, kudos, reblog, like, and quick speed-read means the world to me. i'm a huge sucker for fixing broken characters, mostly because it's easier than fixing real world people, and sometimes you just want to know that someone can change for the better no matter how bad they were. you know? so having other people vibing with me on that level is very nice! (it is 100% on me that you will read that in a borat voice and i'm sorry)
> 
> if you want, feel free to come talk to me on my tumblr, [foxtophat](https://foxtophat.tumblr.com/)! i'm awkward as hell, but i love talking to people, so hit me up! i'm running out of steam so i'll stop now. i hope to see you at the next fic!!!)


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